A Grandparent's Gift of Love Page 4

  “George,” he said, his belly laugh coming over the phone loud and clear, “motherhood comes naturally to women. For men, fatherhood creeps along and gets there in its own good time. That’s usually because the men would rather the women do the dirty work. Plus, men get confused. There’ll be times when your wife and the baby will be crying at the same time and you’ll just want to stick your head in the freezer. Now, remember, they’ll be crying for different reasons. The baby will be hungry, and Vickie, she’ll wonder about your common sense and why you threw the diaper in the trash rather than in the Diaper Genie.”

  “She told you about that?”

  “Yeah. She called us a little while ago. We had a good laugh at your expense. Now, seriously, the most important thing a new father needs is patience and understanding. Much of being a good parent comes naturally, but details—like making sure you bring everything the baby needs when you take a trip—you will learn them over time. At first you’ll pack every conceivable thing just to be on the safe side. That’s why people with babies don’t leave home; it’s too much trouble. Remember, you’ve already got the most important ingredient for being a good parent.”

  “The Diaper Genie?” I said jokingly.

  “No. Love,” he said. “When you were a baby your mother bundled you up even inside the house, nervous about you catching a cold. The doctor—they still made house calls in those days—came over and said, “Give this kid some air! What are you trying to do, bake him? He feels like a wet loaf of bread.” Even your mom, who is a great mother, needed to learn, and you will, too. That’s part of the fun of parenting. And when your son gets older you’ll have to figure out what the rules are in your house. But for right now, just play and make sure you put those diapers in the Diaper Genie. It locks in the odor, you know. Kind of like Tupperware locks in freshness.”

  “Yeah, Dad, I know. Thanks for the advice.” I hung up the phone and stood there shaking my head, grinning. It dawned on me why kids have grandparents. New parents, like me, are only beginning our education. We’re in “Parenting First Grade.” Wondering if the formula is the right temperature, if the diaper is on securely, when we’re being too neurotic, and if reading Shakespeare to our two-week-old child is actually going to enhance his IQ. Grandparents, however, have Ph.D.s in parenting, plus invaluable firsthand experience.

  These days I’m beginning to figure out my son’s patterns. When he sleeps, when he gets hungry, and when he, well … you know. Anticipating everything helps me feel more secure and in my wife’s eyes, I really know what I’m doing. But every once in a while my son will throw me a curveball. Sometimes I can handle them; other times I call my mom and dad, his grandparents, and get some seasoned advice. Then I gaze at my son lying in the crib, grabbing his short pudgy toes with his plump tiny fingers, an innocent smile on his face, and think, What an awesome responsibility. Thanks for the guidance, Mom and Dad. Thanks for being my child’s grandparents.

  Inspired by GEORGE MCKINLEY

  CHAPTER TWO

  POWER OF LOVE

  Inviting people to enter our hearts completely and showing them just how vital they are in our lives

  When discussing the topic of love, I saw some people reveling in happiness and others swept away by feelings of sadness. I realized that love is the source of our most splendid joys and our deepest sorrows … and that none of us can live without it. Within these stories the extraordinary power of love is revealed from many perspectives, compelling us to be more sensitive and open to expressing our true feelings to the people we keep closest to our hearts.

  So Long for Now

  It was one of those weeklong trips that seemed to end before it really got started. My bags were packed and sitting on the front porch. I didn’t feel like lugging them through the rain and into the car. It was the closing moments of a visit to my folks’ house, and I could see the sadness in my mother’s eyes and my dad starting to get sentimental. I lived three thousand miles away, and good-byes are never easy. In the next few minutes, I would learn that my grandma dislikes saying good-bye so much that she invented a creative way to avoid the feelings of sorrow that accompany those moments.

  My grandma stays with my parents for a few months at a time. Ever since she retired, she’s had the funny habit of staying up half the night and sleeping late the following morning. She likes to watch Jay Leno and American Movie Classics into the wee hours. At three in the morning, when she finally gets tuckered out, she tediously climbs the stairs and crawls into bed. I don’t think she has seen a sunrise in fifteen years.

  Just before it was time for me to go, I went to say my goodbyes. It was around twelve-thirty in the afternoon when I discreetly stepped into my grandma’s bedroom. There she was, sitting in a wintry pink nightgown with her head bowed slightly and rosary beads draped in her hands. Her hair was still wispy from being slept on, and the wrinkled skin of her arms confirmed her age. I apologized for the intrusion, and she welcomed me anyway. “I’m praying,” she said softly. “I pray every morning when I get up.”

  I chuckled, recalling the time.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, and, with the rosary beads in her right hand, she gently touched my face. “You’re a good boy,” she said with a droopy smile.

  “I’m in my thirties, Grandma,” I replied, trying to convey that I was a man, not a boy.

  She shunned my comment with the wave of her hand and said, “Ah, to me you’ll always be a good boy.”

  “I think about Grandpa often,” I expressed delicately.

  She looked at me sadly and responded, “I know you do, honey. I pray to him every morning and let him know you think of him. I pray for you and your brothers and tell Grandpa how well you are all doing. Grandpa and I were looking forward to spending more time with the family, but I guess it wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes I wonder why God took him so soon.”

  “Grandma,” I whispered, “I would love to talk more, but I have to go.”

  She shook her head gingerly and said, “I know, I know. Our lives are so different. You have so many places to be and get so many phone calls each day. I have no appointments and hardly ever get any phone calls anymore.”

  I hugged her and said, “Good-bye.”

  “Good-byes are too permanent,” she countered. “I like to say, “So long for now.” That means that we’ll see each other again soon.”

  So we hugged again and said, “So long for now.”

  I walked to the door and turned to see her one more time. There she was, a gentle woman wearing an old pink nightgown and smiling. The love in her eyes told the story. I could sense a hint of sadness, a readiness to depart from the world and take her place in heaven, next to my grandpa.

  “I love you,” I said, and trotted down the stairs. When I got to the bottom step I looked up and pictured her sitting in that chair. Head bowed, eyes closed, hair wispy, skin wrinkled, heart filled with love. No appointments today, I thought to myself. I hope this isn’t the last time I see you, Grandma. From now on, I’ll have to make each “so long” count, because one of these times it really will be “good-bye.”

  My dad was kind enough to throw my bags in the trunk. I could see him waiting for me in the car and wiping the rain from his face with a napkin. My mom wanted to postpone the good-bye a little longer, so she accompanied me through the rain and into the car. Like so many people, we’d be sharing tearful good-byes in the passenger unloading zone at the airport.

  As I slid into the car, I envisioned my grandma sitting up there in her room. Grandma prays for me every day, I thought. How many people take the time to pray for me each day? The answer to that question made the relationship I have with my grandma even more valuable. Two generations and fifty years separate us, but love and the special bond between grandparent and grandchild unite us. I gazed up into her window as the car rolled down the driveway. Behind a heavy downpour of titanic raindrops and fog clinging to the windowpane, there she was, peeking out. Hair wispy, rosary beads in her hand, smile on h
er face, eyes filled with love. I read her lips as she waved. “So long for now,” she said. “So long for now.”

  I waved and thought, So long for now, Grandma. I love you. Today there will be no good-byes.

  Inspired by MARY COLUCCI

  Reasons Why

  A young girl flinging stale bread to ducks in a lake stumbled across an older gentleman scrawling in a tattered notebook. “What are you doing, mister?” she asked, inquisitively.

  “I’m writing down all the reasons why I love my wife,” declared the gentleman.

  The little girl arched her neck, peered into the man’s notebook, and exclaimed, “Wow! This is a long list. Your wife must be a really nice lady!”

  The man smiled, caressed the page with his hand, and, in a voice drenched with love, softly replied, “She was a miracle, and just the other day God decided to make her an angel.”

  Inspired by LORRAINE TOWLAN

  Swinging on the Back Porch

  There you are, my darling, gently swaying on our back porch swing. You look enchanting. Seeing you out there casts a smile across my face. It is my second favorite place to see you. You know what my favorite place is, don’t you? When we embrace, and I gaze affectionately into your eyes. That’s the moment I see how much you love me. Even after all these years my stomach fills with little butterflies when I behold the love in your eyes. I know you can see the love in mine. It’s there. It’s obvious to everyone how much I love you.

  I could stand here forever just staring at you. You are the most exquisite vision I have ever laid eyes upon. I love how the breeze blows back your hair. It enables me to catch a glimpse of your soft cheek—a place I love to caress with my hand and kiss whenever the opportunity presents itself, usually anytime I’m near you.

  Do you know that you’ve grown more beautiful with age? As I stand here watching you, I wonder how I got so lucky. What did I do to deserve a woman like you? You are beautiful, smart, tender, and a wonderful mother and wife. You’re also a wonderful friend. That’s one of the most important aspects of a successful marriage: We are lovers, husband and wife, but we’re also each other’s best friend.

  I notice you’re watching a bluebird bounce merrily on the thin branches hovering over our backyard. It’s a pretty sight. This house and that tree hold many wonderful memories for us. Remember the bald tire we dangled from one of the sturdy branches many years ago? How our grandchildren loved to swing and spin until they were so dizzy they could no longer stand? I don’t know how they could eat hot dogs for lunch and then hop on that tire and spin around and around. But I loved to watch the joy on their faces as they played together.

  Right there, from where you’re sitting now, we watched our family grow in years and in number. How many days did we spend cradling our new grandchildren to sleep on that very swing? The old wood we used to put that swing together has been transformed into a priceless family treasure.

  As I stand here staring at you, I think about those quiet summer nights when it was just the two of us and we’d come outside and gaze at the stars in the sky. On more than one occasion we saw a shooting star. Enthusiastically, one of us would point to the star and follow it with our finger until it slipped into darkness. Once it disappeared, we’d sit with our eyes closed and our hands cupped in our laps and make a wish. I think we wished for the same thing, but we always kept our wishes a secret.

  You’ve made my life wonderful, my darling. Sharing my life with you has been a blessing. Together we raised beautiful children. We have many reasons to feel proud. Our grandchildren are nearby, which gives us more opportunities to spoil them. It also means we have more reasons to smile.

  As I reflect on our life together, I remember both ups and downs. The downs taught us some valuable lessons and helped us appreciate the good times all the more. I stand here quietly, leaning against the doorway and watching your feet softly swing to and fro. I feel like the richest man in the world. I have a happy and healthy family and that makes my life complete.

  You turn and see me leaning in the doorway. I smile and reach out to touch you and suddenly you fade away. Spontaneously, I awaken from my dream and reality appears. You are gone now and I am alone. The pain of missing you engulfs my heart, but I know your spirit is with me. Through my dreams, I know we will remain together forever. Through my dreams, I have experienced the magnificence of everlasting love.

  Inspired by ROBERT CULLEN

  A Day in the Life

  The room was dim. Half the fluorescent lights in the ceiling were off in an effort to conserve energy. Padded gray chairs were shoved against the matching gray walls, and the scent of despair loomed over everyone. No one was smiling. No one wanted to be there.

  I was sitting in the emergency room of the local hospital with my fiancée, waiting for our turn. She had injured her back the day before, and our hopes that a good night’s rest would help the situation went unrealized. She wriggled in her seat, trying to find a position that didn’t cause blades of pain to fire down the nerves of her back. Finally, after two hours of waiting, she was called in. I escorted her to the door, where the nurse greeted us and asked me to sit tight in the waiting room. “This may take a little while,” she said. I had no doubts.

  Flopping back into my chair, I gazed curiously around the room at the other people who also preferred to be anyplace else.

  An elderly couple was sitting across from me, his hand resting on top of hers—a symbol that she was there for treatment, he was there for support. A moment earlier my hand was resting on top of Irina’s, and I wondered if in fifty years we would be like them, holding hands, possessing a long history together and still a support system for one another. I hoped so.

  A few seats down was a boy who must have cut his forehead playing baseball; the mitt was still on his left hand. His mom sat next to him, looking frazzled and pressing a thick piece of gauze over his wound.

  Off in the corner, where the two rows of padded gray chairs met, sat what looked like a young pair of grandparents and their little granddaughter. The girl looked like a teddy bear scrunched up sleeping in her grandpa’s lap. The woman’s hands were white knuckled, clutching her husband’s right arm. Her eyes were pinched shut as if she was begging God for strength. The man stared at the floor, drowning in unpleasant thoughts; then his eyes rolled up and locked with mine before I could pull away. I gave him a nod; a sign expressing, I hope everything turns out okay. A subtle nod of his head relayed the response: Thank you.

  Desperate for some fresh air, I wandered outside. The sky had turned the same color as the waiting room, pencil-lead gray. I let the wind gusts cast a cool mist across my face and rubbed in the moisture before heading back inside. Someone had claimed my seat so I stood near the registration desk, hoping that Irina would soon be released.

  “Do you want to tell the family or should I?” Two nurses were talking in a small office across the hall.

  “I’ll do it,” said the nurse on the right. Friendly looking, short, plump, experienced in matters like this, I guessed. “Where’s his wife?” she asked.

  “Flew home to see her mother, who was sick. Can you believe it? Talk about tough times,” said the other nurse.

  “So the wife doesn’t know yet?”

  “No. No one’s been able to get in touch with her. The phone just keeps ringing.”

  “All right, let me go. Thank God that little girl has her grandparents here.”

  I watched as she passed me, chewing her lower lip, her hands clenched as though she were lugging the heavy weight of bad news. She moved slowly to the corner of the room, where the chairs met, where the little girl was sleeping, where the grandparents watched as she approached. The nurse said something and ushered the woman around the corner, leaving the little girl sleeping in her grandpa’s arms.

  A moment later curdling shrieks of agony echoed throughout that drab little room. Everyone perked up, jolted out of their drowsy haze. The same way people feel a little envious when it’s someone else�
�s turn to see the doctor, this time they felt grateful it wasn’t them saddled with unwelcome news. The tension in the room was already thick and obtrusive, like too many people squeezed into an elevator on a hot summer’s day. When that woman screamed, the walls closed in, forcing the boy and his mom outside. The grandfather scooped up the little girl and disappeared around the corner.

  An hour later I walked through the doorway where the patients reclined in narrow beds, separated by thin beige curtains suspended on silver metal rings. I couldn’t help but risk taking a glance as I paced by. The little boy getting stitches. His mom holding his right hand, the baseball glove still on his left. The elderly couple. Her resting with eyes closed on a bed and him sitting next to her, his hand resting on top of hers. And there was the little girl with her grandma and grandpa. Her daddy was lying in bed.

  I had already learned that he was a carpenter working on a roof that afternoon when the sky turned gray. The rain cast a slick coat on the wooden slats and the man slipped, plummeting twenty feet into a pile of building materials. He was twenty-nine years old and paralyzed from the waist down.

  It took me only a second to pass by that scene. The loving family huddled around that young man. His daughter, too young to understand the significance of what had happened, and the wife who didn’t know how drastically her life had changed. The memory of that moment is burned into my mind.

  A few curtains down I found my fianc´e, woozy from a shot of morphine and eager to go home. The curtain was drawn when we walked by that family, so I recalled the scene from a few moments earlier. That nurse was right, I thought to myself. Thank God that little girl’s grandparents are here. She needs them more than she realizes, and the man lying in bed will need his family as he fights the battles that lie ahead. That was my final thought as I stepped out into the darkness, basking in the refreshing coolness of the evening rain.