My grandad...ah, the memories. I always felt so close to my grandparents growing up. They lived next door and were an every day part of my existence. I miss the simplicity of it all, back when I would just spend time with them and life was wonderful because of them.
I remember Grandad:
- catching rabbits (sounds morbid I know but a memory all the same)
- eating those little marshallow filled ice cream cone candy
- falling asleep and snoring in church
- babysitting me on Sunday nights and going for a "randy" (that means "drive" for you non-newfs) to my uncles house to visit
- frying me the best eggs in the world
- mixing lime cordial with a ton of sugar
- being very impatient waiting for his meals to be served
- always having a plastic glass in the glove box to stop at a cliff on the side of the road for a drink of the freshest spring water you'll ever find anywhere.
.....and there are so many more...Packing boxes and I just came across my poetry book. I haven't written in it for a while. Tend to write when I am feeling sad and low. I turn the pages to a poem I wrote a short time after my grandad died. I remember watching him from the kitchen window of our house, seeing him walk up into the back garden, I would cringe when he stumbled. It broke my heart but I felt so inspired by his strength to carry on and work hard even after a stroke left him paralyzed on the right and dominant side of his body.
I remember the days before he died. He lay on his bed and would point and exclaim to my Granny, "Look! Don't you see it?" He was so frustrated that no one could understand but yet he was so peaceful. I believe he was in the presence of his angel. The angel was there when he breathed his final breath. I was there. I sensed it. I will not soon forget the feeling in the room that night.
The poem is called "The Quiet Nod" and it makes me cry every time I read it over to myself. I want to share it with you.
He stumbled and fell as he slowly limped up the narrow path.
A gentle hand reached down and picked him up out of the dirt,
And then held his hand to help him on his way.
He crippled on, not realizing that he was being watched,
Admired for his great strength.
Not strength in himself, but in the hand that held him day by day.
With every passing day he looked up and asked,
"Father, when can I walk on my own again?"
The answer was a quiet nod -
The assurance that one day soon everything would be okay.
On a soft pillow he laid his head and closed his eyes to rest.
Again, a gentle hand reached out and touched his precious brow
And lingered on, always patiently watching.
With childlike faith he held fast to the hand that held him,
His peace, his only trust.
Knowing that all alone he could never carry on day by day.
Again, he looked up into the loving eyes and said,
"Father, I know you will never leave me."
The answer still was just that quiet nod
saying again that everything would be just fine.
He awakened for the final time once cold yet peaceful night
And with his final grain of mortal strength reached out for that hand
that had been there all the time.
He looked into the loving eyes that looked down at him
and understood the hope
that was in his heart and had carried him through each passing day.
With his final breath he whispered,
"Father, is it time to go home now?"
The answer came in a quiet nod...
Thank you Grandad...for everything you have given me...so much still even tho' you are gone.
Until we meet again...
"For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee..." Psalms 91:11