by Edward Fays
We made it through that morning, sharing our fears, which somehow made us both feel a little less frightened. We rode a tidal wave of emotions, crying together one minute and then convincing ourselves that she could beat the disease. The two of us shared our grief alone before sharing the news with family and friends.
She endured the chemotherapy treatments with bravery, losing more than fifteen pounds and most of her hair in the process. I had never bought her a hat before, but I purchased three in the next year. Once, as I placed a hat on the counter and handed my credit card to the saleslady, I broke down crying.
Then some good news came. Finally. The treatments worked. They got the enemy, I thought to myself. Thank you, God. It took some adjusting, but life got back to normal, that chapter of our lives behind us. Her hair grew back, she gained some weight, and we resumed our weekly tennis match. The hats she’d worn were happily stored in a box and stuffed in the closet of the spare bedroom. But now, in the time it takes to answer a phone call, a frightening new chapter has begun.
Standing there in the corner I asked myself, What can I say to her? I have asked that excruciating question a thousand times, and I asked it again. But at that moment, as she delicately caressed her cheeks and glared deep within herself, I realized that no word has been coined that can encompass a person’s feelings. So hugs were invented instead. One loving embrace speaks volumes, so that’s what I did.
I walked over silently, closed my eyes, and hugged her. I hugged my twenty-five-year-old granddaughter with all the love I had in my heart and soul, and then I accompanied her to the hospital.
Inspired by ROSALIE PACKARD
Getting Paid in Hugs
Jake was in the second grade when his parents told that his grandpa would be retiring after working at the same company for forty years. With a look of amazement on his face, Jake said, “I’m only seven, so that means Grandpa has been there …” He thought for a second and finally exclaimed, “A really long time!rdquo;
His parents chuckled and said, “Yes, Grandpa has worked there a long time, and that’s why we are throwing him a surprise party.”
Jake loved his grandpa very much and wanted to do something special for the occasion. He offered to help with the party plans but was told that all the arrangements had been made. Undaunted, Jake knew there must be some way he could show his grandpa how much he was appreciated and congratulate him on his retirement.
Jake remembered the business card his grandpa had given him a couple of years earlier. It was wedged within the mirror’s wooden frame in his bedroom, between a two-dollar bill and a picture of him and his dad on the Ferris wheel at the church carnival. He scrambled up the stairs and into his room. Taking the tattered card in his hand, he realized that his grandpa would no longer have that position. Positions are good, he thought, so he decided to create a new one for his grandpa. Jake told his parents about the idea, and they said it was wonderful.
When the big day came, Jake was ready. A collection of different-size boxes, all beautifully wrapped, were placed on a gift table—that is, all except for Jake’s. He didn’t want to include his gift with the others, so he carried it around with him the entire evening.
He watched his grandpa open the other gifts, “oohing” and “aahing” at each one. He wanted his gift to be the last one Grandpa opened, so as the evening drew to a close, he took his grandpa’s hand and ushered him over to a chair in the corner, away from the crowd.
“I’ve got something for you, Grandpa,” Jake stated with pride, offering up the gift.
With that, his grandpa propped Jake up on his left knee and declared, “Well, this sure is a beautifully wrapped present. Did you do this all by yourself?”
“Kind of,” Jake replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Mom helped me a little.”
Grandpa smiled. “Well, it looks wonderful. May I open it now?”
Jake enthusiastically nodded his head.
As Grandpa unwrapped the package, his cheeks grew moist with tears. Jake had given him the greatest gift he could have ever asked for: official business cards with his new title: FULLTIME GRANDPA. There were no phone or fax numbers because now his time was his own. There was no business address because his new position didn’t require one. Jake gazed lovingly into his grandpa’s eyes and said, “Congratulations on your retirement. Now your full-time job is just being my grandpa! ”
Holding one of the cards between his right thumb and index finger and wiping his tears with the back of his hand, Grandpa asked jokingly, “Well, how much do I get paid?”
With his bright blue eyes expressing total devotion, Jake responded, “As many hugs as you want each day.”
Beaming with joy, Grandpa gave Jake an affectionate hug and buoyantly replied, “Well, I guess that means I’m a rich man.”
Inspired by BEN STEWART
Quite an Accomplishment
He hurried through the parking lot seconds after the bell rang signaling the end of the school day. The knapsack dangling from his left hand skipped along the ground. It had been seven long hours since he’d seen his mommy, so he was ecstatic. Once kisses were exchanged, she said they had to stop by her patient’s house to drop off some medication for the evening nurse.
When they arrived, the little boy was introduced to his mom’s patient—a sullen, crusty old man intently watching the Food Network with a rainbow-checkered quilt draped over his legs. The little boy’s mom said she needed to talk with the other nurse and that she’d be back in a moment. The old man and the little boy glanced at each other, neither of them knowing quite what to say. The little boy looked around the room. He gazed over at the TV, an old shelf sagging from the weight of too many books, and a rumpled bed. Looking back at the old man, he asked curiously, “Did you just get out of bed?”
The old man scrunched the tuft of his eyebrows, peered at the boy, and in a disgruntled voice said, “Yeah. Why?”
“Well, it’s almost dinnertime,” replied the boy. “Didn’t you do anything today?”
“Yeah, I got out of bed,” declared the old man.
“That’s it?” asked the boy, obviously unimpressed.
The old man focused his eyes, stuck out his gray stubbled chin, and said, “Hey, at ninety-six, that’s quite an accomplishment.”
Inspired by MAUREEN GALLOW
A Night to Remember
I spotted her at the Silver Fox’s dance. A real looker. Usually the ladies there didn’t arouse much enthusiasm in me, but she was like a brilliant rose in full bloom. Her eyes were gray-blue and matched the color of my titanium cane perfectly. She caught me looking at her and gave me a demure smile. I got the hint—it was time to make my move.
I sauntered across the floor as well as anyone can with a cane, but she seemed to like my confident swagger. Her smile got bigger as I approached. I said, “Hello, my name is Elvis.”
“Really?” she replied. “Well, let me see you gyrate those hips.”
“I can’t. I just had hip-replacement surgery,” I said. She laughed at my joke. Things were looking good.
We chatted for a while. Getting to know someone is much easier when your life has some history—there’s simply more to tell. When you’re young and someone says, “So, tell me about yourself,” what is there to say? “I live with my parents and can’t wait to go away to college.” But when you’re older, there’s a whole treasure trove of things to discuss—children, grandchildren, career, travel, outlooks on living, and what’s happening in the world. It’s very engaging.
So we sat and talked. Her name was Rebecca and I finally told her my real name, Francis. It was a glorious evening. We enjoyed clever conversation and danced the night away. We laughed when a gentleman on the dance floor tried a courageous maneuver, something out of Saturday Night Fever, and couldn’t get back up. Luckily, dance guards were standing by to rescue him. They’re the equivalent of lifeguards at the beach; they help people on the dance floor who get in over their heads, so to speak.
Rebecc
a and I were both widowed. We each had family, but were lonely for something else: romance, intimacy, and—okay, I’ll come right out and say it. Sex!
We strolled outside that night gazing at the stars, enjoying the crisp evening air and holding each other’s hands. It was magical. I can’t explain it other than saying that it just felt right. Perhaps I’m stepping out on a limb but I think I can speak for both of us when I say we fell in love that night, under the stars.
Standing there that evening, gazing into each other’s eyes, I felt compelled to softly kiss her. I was about to take the plunge when an ambulance barreled into the parking lot, stopping abruptly at the entrance. Turns out it was nothing serious. Somebody spiked the punch bowl and someone else drank a little too much punch. I had to wait until the mayhem subsided before I could finally kiss her, but it was worth it. “The night was still and the world was ours,” as they say in those old movies, but that’s just how it felt. It had been years since I’d held a woman’s face gently in my hand and graced her lips with mine and it was wonderful. And when I kissed her, I knew it was meant to be. She left me breathless.
Rebecca and I have been inseparable since that magnificent evening. We share a place together and not long ago I asked for her hand in marriage. She tearfully accepted and I am proud to say that my twenty-four-year-old grandson, Francis, will stand beside me as my best man. He has always been my best man, but on that wonderful day we’ll make it official.
Life holds so many hidden treasures and true love is the greatest gift we can experience. There was a time when I wondered if I’d spend the rest of my life recalling the memories of my lost love. Those are days I will always cherish, but I am delighted to say I’m in love again, and it feels fabulous.
Inspired by FRANCIS HARMOND
The Perfect Moment
What will I know ten years from now that I don’t know yet?” I peered at my grandpa Red Bart, eagerly anticipating his answer.
He took his time, savoring the first bite from an enormous slice of New York pizza and wiping his mouth with a crumpled napkin before he winked at me, smiled, and said, “That’s a good question coming from a six-year-old with a mouth full of pizza. But that’s for me to know and for you to find out.”
“Come on, Gramps,” I said, utterly disappointed. “Can’t you tell me anything else?”
“All right, what would you like to know?”
“I’m not sure, that’s what I’m asking you. What do sixteen-year-olds know that I don’t yet?”
“Have you ever seen a sunrise early in the morning, just when it’s peeking over the mountaintop?”
“On the bus ride to school I see it sometimes, shining in my window.”
“That’s what it’s like to be sixteen,” he said, dropping his folded slice of pizza onto a grease-stained paper plate. Gramps spread his arms out wide and said, “It’s the age when people are beginning to understand the world. All the years leading up to sixteen are preparing you for that moment when you finally get a glimpse at life’s possibilities. Your sun is rising from the day you are born, but you’re protected under the shadow of your mom and dad until you’re old enough to step out and begin exploring the world yourself.”
“It sounds like sixteen-year-olds have a lot to do. What’s it like to be twenty-five?”
“Sixteen is when the sun just begins peeking over the mountaintop, and twenty-five is when it’s high in the eastern part of the sky, but still rising. It’s warm and hasn’t reached its highest temperature yet. Its full potential. Twenty-five is when people are out on their own and, like the sun, trying to rise and shine in a very competitive and complex world. Many twenty-five-year-olds are working hard at a new career. Others are still in school. The good part is at twenty-five you’re an adult, so your mom and dad can’t tell you what to do anymore. The bad part is they don’t wash your clothes or make your dinner anymore either.”
“You mean I have to cook my own food and clean my own underwear? I don’t know if I like twenty-five. What’s forty like?”
“By forty years old you probably will be married and have a boy just like you running around the house.”
“Well, that’s good. That way I’ll have someone to cook and clean for me. Forty may be really old but it sounds good so far.”
“Hold on, I’m not finished yet,” Red Bart said, his voice charged with laughter. “Forty years old can be compared to the sun when it’s highest in the sky, at its most influential. That’s when people look up to it for warmth and guidance, like you do now with your mom and dad. Just like the sun at its peak, people in their forties have a great deal of responsibility—a house and cars to pay for and children like you who remain protected in their shadows. They also have demanding careers requiring plenty of time and attention. People in their forties, like the sun towering in the sky, can survey everything, and because of that they must learn to balance more responsibilities than most people. That means husband and wife have to chip in and help each other, throw one another’s underwear in the wash every once in a while. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, but I think it’s easier if I just make a lot of money and hire someone to clean my clothes. Don’t you think? What’s it like to be sixty?”
“Well, I’m not quite there yet, but I’ll tell you what my life is like today. Have you ever seen the sun on a lazy summer’s day when it’s starting to sink just a little bit in the horizon?”
“Yeah, Gramps, it’s bright orange a lot of the time.”
“That’s right. The sun has cooled off. It’s no longer a blazing yellow ball of fire burning in the sky. Now it’s slowing down, surveying all the things that have benefited from its hard work during the course of the day. People in their sixties feel the same way. Their ambition doesn’t burn as hot as it once did. They prefer to look back and behold all the love they’ve shone on others and the lives they helped spring forth. People enjoy watching the sun dip lower in the sky because it has a certain wisdom, like it’s done the work it set out to do and now it can rest. It’s a cozy time of day and a cozy time of life. That’s how I feel, like a warm orange sun that has worked hard and can enjoy the fruits of my labor. Like sitting here with you, eating pizza.”
“Is there a time when everything is perfect, Gramps? An age where people can have everything they ever wanted? That’s what I want to know, what age does that happen?”
“There is no perfect age where everything will go your way, little guy. When the sun slides across the sky there are moments when it hits your eye just right, like a big pizza pie, That’s Amore!”
“What? What are you talking about, Grandpa?”
“What I mean is that there are no perfect sunrises or sunsets, but there are moments when the sun’s rays will hit you just right, making everything sparkle. That, my boy, happens at every age, making you happy that you’re right there, able to enjoy that period in time.
“That’s the closest thing I’ve ever found to a perfect moment. And if you’re lucky like me, you’ll have lots of them sprinkled throughout the course of your life.”
Inspired by BART COLUCCI
A New Father’s Confusion
My parents got my wife, Vickie, and me a Diaper Genie for our baby shower. They watched delighted as my wife peeled off the pastel wrapping and leaped from her seat when she saw what they had given us.
I glanced over at my father, hands open on my lap. “It’s a Diaper Genie,” he said, as if I should know. “Man’s greatest invention. I just wish they were around when you were a kid. You stank to the high heavens!”
He smiled, got up, and popped the seal on a fresh can of Diet Coke. I still wasn’t quite sure what it was but thought that any more questions might make me look stupid, so I just smiled and acted surprised when my wife opened up the next gift. A potty trainer. The Diaper Genie sat off in the corner of the baby’s room for a while until my wife came home one day and smelled something awful fluxing throughout the house.
“What is that foul odor?”
she said, her nose and lips scrunched up into one little spot in the center of her face.
“The baby’s diaper, honey,” I said. “Have a little compassion. Sheesh! He can’t help it.”
“What did you do, hang it up next to a fan?”
Chuckling, I said, “No, I put it in the trash in the bathroom. I meant to throw it outside but I forgot. I’ll do it now.”
“No,” she said, looking at me only the way a loving wife could look at her husband. Like I’m cute and an idiot all at the same time. “The dirty diapers go in the Diaper Genie,” she continued, pointing to the curious contraption in the corner. “It’s a receptacle for diapers. It locks in the odor.”
My first thought was Tupperware, and how that locks in freshness. Not a good association. Plopping down in my chair, I realized the baby opened me up to a bold new world. I felt comfortable tinkering with the car or painting a bedroom … but diapers and formula? I needed to consult with an expert.
“Hello, Dad?” He knew about Diaper Genies, so I figured he must have a good handle on the things every new father should know, like how to stay out of trouble with my wife and how to keep the house smelling “Mountain Fresh.” I read that on a box of carpet deodorizer and for some reason it stuck with me.
“Dad,” I said, “I’m in a bit of a jam here, could use your help. It used to be when I went out I grabbed my jacket and left. Now, with the baby, there are diapers, formula, little towels, toys, and he’s always got to be bundled up no matter what the temperature. I feel like I’m doing laundry twenty-four seven and am confusing his pajama bottoms with my socks. They’re about the same size. Also, I just got up to speed on the Diaper Genie. And now that I know what it is, let me say, many thanks. That will certainly come in handy.”
