by Edward Fays
I never told anyone about the diary. Somehow I hope that Grandma knows I’ve got it and it’s our little secret. Perhaps I’m just kidding myself, but I like to think somewhere in heaven Grandma knows that I am sorry and that I love her. The diary she kept is a priceless gift I’ll always treasure. And someday, if I’m blessed with a granddaughter, I, too, will keep a diary of the relationship we share and hope that after I’m gone she will read it and remember with fondness the times we had together.
The sentiments Mary Ann shared after discovering her grandma’s diary were written many years ago. The pages where she captured her thoughts were stuffed inside the cover of a diary she began keeping when her own granddaughter, Sabrina, was born. Today Sabrina has a treasure of memories to enjoy and reflect on for years to come. And someday, many years from now, when Sabrina is blessed with a grandchild, she’ll keep a diary, and the cycle of life and love within this family will continue forever.
Inspired by LOUISE BONTONOVICH
Yesterday’s Gone
He looks just like me. Can I hold him now? I’m the happiest grandfather in the world because I’ve got the most beautiful grandchild in the world. I need pictures to send to everyone I know.
I can’t believe he’s already beginning to walk. I started at a young age, too! I’d like to buy him his first pair of shoes.
When are the two of you going away so your mother and I can watch him for a week or two or three?
Go out to dinner and enjoy yourselves, we’ll baby-sit!
So he is showing an interest in baseball—I love it, too!
Grandson, I got us season tickets to the Yankees! How about another hot dog?
Do you need clothes for school? Just let me know. I’ll be happy to take you shopping.
That’s a wonderful report card. I appreciate you showing me.
Thank you for so proudly introducing me to your classmates at the basketball game. I always wondered about what your friends at school were like.
You’re growing into a fine young man. I can’t believe you’re almost a teenager.
Grandson, I know you’re busy with your friends, but I was hoping we could go fishing this weekend. Let me know when you’re free, my boy. Anytime is good with me.
Now that you’ve got your driver’s license, how about I take you to lunch? You can drive! Okay, maybe you’ll have time next week.
How’s college, my boy? I can’t believe you’re three thousand miles away. I sure do miss you. Are you coming home for the summer? Maybe we can spend a week at the lake? Wow, times sure have changed! I couldn’t imagine going to Europe for a summer.
Congratulations on graduating, my boy. Oh, excuse me, I guess man is more appropriate now.
Where have the years gone? I can’t believe you’re getting married. My health hasn’t been good but I am determined to join you on that glorious day. I only wish Grandma were here to see it, too.
Grandson, it seems like yesterday when I held you in my arms for the first time. Now you’re having a child.
I wish we could have spent more time together.
It’s good to hear your voice on the phone, yet it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.
I was hoping you could come for a visit. You know I can’t get around too easily anymore. I understand. Between work and the baby you’re very busy. When you find the time, I have a room ready for you.
I’ve got your picture on my night table. Sometimes seeing a photo of you makes me miss you more. I love you.
Thanks for calling, grandson. I guess your mom told you I was in the hospital. The doctors say I’m doing okay, but I know I’m old, and they can’t make me young again, so they just make me comfortable—as comfortable as I can be, anyway. I was hoping you could come for a visit. Oh, I didn’t know you had that much work piled up. I understand. I was a young man once, too. I’ll talk to you soon I hope. Good-bye.
The following note was found scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper on the old wooden food tray next to Grandpa’s bed.
Grandson, for years I asked you for a weekend or even an afternoon. Why did you wait until the day of my funeral to give it to me? The relationship we shared when you were young was precious, and I miss the times we once spent together, terribly. The memories sustained me, but often made it even more painful to accept the fact that what we once had, we lost. Someday you will be a grandpa, and I hope that as your grandchildren grow they will always find time for you. You will not understand this now, my grandson, but for a loving grandpa there is nothing in the world more delightful than the moments spent with his grandson. I pray that someday when we meet again, we can rebuild the relationship we once shared together. Until that day comes, I hope that each day blesses you and your family with health, love, and happiness. Good-bye, my grandson. Please know that you will always have my love.
Inspired by DAVID McGUIRE
Signs and Sorrows
Stephen wept in the hallway, skewered by the pain of what had happened. Leaning up against the beveled mirrored wall, he pressed his hands to his face, consciously avoiding a visual reminder of the hurt consuming him at that moment. “If only I could spin back time, I would do so many things differently,” he mumbled to himself. He grabbed his brother by the jacket lapels, asking, “Why did this happen! Why didn’t I see it coming!”
Exhausted, he fell into an antique chair nestled in the corner, his head resting in his hands. People milled about like shadows, unnoticed.
“So much lost and nothing gained,” he stammered, “nothing but heartache.” Stephen’s son, Eric, got roaringly drunk the night of his twenty-first birthday and drove his car into a wall at seventy miles per hour. On purpose. He was killed on impact.
Eric’s grandfather—Stephen’s dad, Sam—awash in feelings of sadness, frustration, and regret, vowed to eulogize his grandson in a way that not only celebrated his short life but also allowed him to speak candidly about death, coping with loss, and sorrow.
“It takes a certain shock to bring us in contact with reality,” he said. Pausing, allowing his words to soak into people’s thoughts. “We often ignore the things closest to us until trouble descends upon them. We don’t give our heart a thought until something alarms us and we rush frantically to the doctor. Often it’s the same with those we love. I assumed things were okay with Eric. A few days ago it appeared they were going well and today, all is reversed. I have asked the same questions plaguing you now. What if? What did I miss? If only. We will never know the reasons why, but we do know that this was his ultimate wish—to escape from whatever troubles he was feeling. Now, unburdened, he enters his final resting place bathed clean of the fears and feelings that caused him to take his own life. Now it is our turn to grieve, for a time, at least. Sorrow for the death of a loved one is the only wound we consider a duty to keep open, as if that will allow us to stay connected to the person we lost. A cut of our skin, the pain of a breakup, a broken bone, these are wounds we seek to heal.
“People who suffer greatly are like those who know many languages: They have learned to understand and be understood by all. If what we take from Eric’s death is a greater understanding of the fears and concerns facing our loved ones, then he has bestowed upon us a gift that can enhance the life of each person here today. Please use it for good.”
Sam stepped off to the side, tears slowly leaking from his eyes. The silence at that moment was absolute, as though everyone had vanished.
Suddenly a few hushes were heard among the crowd, and unexpectedly some of the tears turned to smiles. “Look,” people said. “Look!” A pure white dove had settled at the head of the casket, perched upon a wreath of red roses.
“It’s a sign,” said one person.
“Yes,” replied another. “A symbol that Eric is in heaven.”
Sam stood there crying. Suddenly everyone is looking for a sign, some glimmer of hope, but what about the signs Eric displayed that went unnoticed? he thought to himself. His face blinked a sad smile and he said, �
��I think it’s a message for us—to cleanse our hearts of the hurt we feel today and keep our memory of him pure, not casting judgment for the way his life has ended. We don’t know what he was feeling so we should not presume to judge him or the challenges he was facing.”
People nodded in agreement. For the loved ones standing there with desolate hearts, it would be a long time before their wounds would finally begin to heal. As that dove ascended from the bed of roses, its wings sliding in long graceful strokes, it seemed to brush away some of the sorrow from the hearts of those whom Eric had left behind.
Inspired by IAN SULLIVAN
What’s the Difference?
It was around three-fifteen in the afternoon and my grandson, Frankie, came bounding through my front door. “Grandpa, Grandpa,” he said, “I just made a new friend at school!”
“Why, congratulations,” I replied.
“Yeah, Grandpa, today was his first day, and he sat right next to me. We played games and had lunch together. I like him a lot.”
“Well, that’s great,” I said. And then, as little boys will often do, he quickly changed the subject.
“Can I have some milk and cookies, Grandpa?” he asked, knowing I’m always good for a yes.
“Sure. You grab the cookies and I’ll pour two glasses of cold milk for us.” As I poured the frothy white liquid I thought about my good fortune. I lived just a few blocks from my son and his family, and my house was only a block away from my Frankie’s school. He popped in often, and that always brightened my day.
So perched on a couple of stools while munching on cookies and seeing who could build the better milk mustache, he told me about Jerry, his new friend. Twenty minutes passed, and I knew we’d eaten too many cookies when Frankie picked one up and got that I’m stuffed look on his face.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “Your mom and dad are going to know I gave you cookies. Let’s put these away and hope you’re hungry by dinnertime.”
As I hugged Frankie good-bye and thanked him for stopping over I said, “Your new friend Jerry is welcome here anytime, so just bring him over. Okay? I’ve always got milk and cookies and you guys can play video games together.”
The following week on one dazzling spring afternoon as I mowed the lawn, Frankie and Jerry came running through the yard. As Frankie eagerly introduced me and I welcomed them inside I couldn’t help but think to myself, Jerry is not what I expected. Frankie set Jerry up with the video game and helped me get the milk and cookies.
“So what do you think about Jerry?” he asked, seeking my approval.
I leaned down and whispered, “Frankie, I didn’t know he was black.” Frankie looked up at me with his big blue eyes and said, “What’s the difference, Grandpa? He is my good friend and isn’t that what counts most of all?”
As Frankie steadily carried the tray of milk and cookies into the den, I stood immobilized, contemplating what my seven-year-old grandson had just said to me. His comment forced me to realize that I had negatively judged a seven-year-old boy by the color of his skin. It never even registered that Jerry had politely said to me, “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” I was ashamed and questioned how I came to judge people so harshly. I recalled hearing my father talk with his friends. All my life I’d heard that people different from me should be looked upon with a critical eye. I learned that if they’re unlike me, they need to prove themselves before they can be trusted.
I thought about my circle of friends. We shared similar backgrounds and beliefs, which only reinforced our prejudice. Deep down, I hoped Frankie would always have an open mind, accepting each person individually. I chuckled sadly, realizing that my grandson, a seven-year-old boy, had shown me the light. Innocence and a pure heart prevailed.
It’s been a few months since that day, and my new perspective is enabling me to see the similarities in people who I had thought were so unlike me. Somehow I’ve learned what I already knew to be true—that we all want the same things in life. To be happy, to love, to laugh often, to prosper, and to be surrounded by family and friends. Those are the most important things and they transcend the differences in people and unite us in the biggest race of all—the human race.
Inspired by EVAN RICHARDSON
Imperfect Beauty
Three young grandmothers were sitting under the dappling shade of a sycamore tree while each of their granddaughters played blissfully in the sandbox nearby. Two of the children were working as a team, building a sand castle together. One girl packed the sand into a plastic red bucket and slid out the mold while the other sculpted it into primitive shapes. They were both beautiful little girls with rolling blond locks, blue eyes like shiny marbles, and adorable smiles. The other child sat off in the corner tossing sand up in the air and occasionally licking it off her fingers. Her grandma kept a close eye on her and hustled over frequently to stroke the sand from her hair and remind her not to put it in her mouth. This routine went on for a little while, and when she sat down again to continue her conversation with the other two ladies, one of them said, “It must be difficult raising a child with so many imperfections.” The other woman nodded in agreement.
She gazed at them and said, “Most children her age know better than to put sand in their mouths, but she’s learning and will outgrow that soon.”
“I guess so,” replied the woman, “but I mean it must be challenging, you know, raising a child who acts and looks so different from other children.”
She looked out at her granddaughter, who was again licking her sand-coated fingers, before gazing back at the two women and saying, “My granddaughter may have sand in her hair and under her fingernails, but she brings joy to many people, and that makes her beautiful. It takes her longer to learn than most children, but that allows our family to celebrate the little successes that other families may take for granted. When I’m with her, I do have to keep a closer eye—because as you can see, she hasn’t realized that there are some things you just shouldn’t do. But watching her so closely has allowed me to spot some wonderful expressions that I would have otherwise missed. Occasionally I even catch her staring at me and I chuckle, thinking, I have to tell her not to lick the sand off her fingers but she learned all by herself how to express love. The hardest part is thinking of the future, when she realizes that she can’t do many of the things other kids can do. And when she comes home crying because of the harsh remarks of another child. Those are the moments I fear, because I don’t know what I’ll say.”
And then the woman looked at the two beautiful little girls playing in the sandbox before turning toward the other ladies, saying, “You said that it must be difficult raising a child with so many imperfections. And you are right, it is difficult. But who among us is perfect?”
Inspired by FRANCINE BYRNES
Beautiful Displays
It was Christmas Eve, and the streets of Manhattan were glistening as a fusion of snow and rain cascaded from the sky. Many people were hustling about, doing their last-minute Christmas shopping. Others stood gazing in awe at the splendor of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.
It certainly felt a lot like Christmas. The Salvation Army volunteers were tolling their bells as the resplendence of Christmas music booming from department stores permeated the air. Best of all, I knew my family was eagerly waiting for Grandpa and me to return from our last-minute shopping. I was in one of those peaceful moods where I felt that all things were right with the world.
Once Grandpa and I completed our shopping, we nibbled on chocolate-dipped biscotti and strolled back toward the car. As we passed the department stores on Fifth Avenue, I gasped in wonder at the magnificent display windows. They were so artistic, so unique. The attention to detail and the passion that had gone into creating those masterpieces were obvious. As I soaked up their charm, however, something else caught my eye.
My grandpa was crouched down offering a cup of hot chocolate and a warm roll to a homeless person squatting on the damp sidewalk. The contrast was piercing. There
I was, standing on one of the most exclusive streets in the world, staring at exquisitely designed display windows. With a slight turn of my head I saw an even more beautiful display—my grandpa helping a person in need. I silently watched as he gingerly handed the man the steaming cup and a toasted roll. The man sluggishly raised his chin from the thick layers of soiled clothes and, with a tender smile and a few missing teeth, mumbled, “Thank you. Merry Christmas.” My grandpa stood up and gestured to me that it was time to go.
We walked in silence for a few blocks before I was compelled to ask him, “Why did you give that man food, Grandpa? Because it’s Christmas?”
“No,” he replied. “As you gazed at the display windows I spotted that man sitting on the dank sidewalk with his head buried in his knees. I couldn’t see his face, but his hands looked like mine. I’m sure living on the streets will age you, but I figured he was about the same age as me. I thought maybe somewhere he had a granddaughter whom he was thinking about tonight. That’s when I glanced back at you and realized how fortunate I am.”
Later that night I sipped homemade eggnog and laughed with my family as we sat around a crackling fire. I thought about that homeless man huddled under the beautiful display windows on Fifth Avenue and the thousands of people who stroll past the windows staring in wonder at their charm. I thought of how fortunate I was to see not only those elegant displays but also one human being contributing to another on this, the night before Christmas. I realized that not everything was right with the world, but thanks to my grandpa, things were just a little bit better.
