This is not a poem, but it is sweet — and I thought I’d share with people. This morning, my grandfather came by the house. Last week, one of my dad’s cousins passed away — I cannot believe that I missed even knowing about the funeral. My grandparents stopped by on their way home from the funeral, he took a look at one of my dad’s unfinished projects, wrote down some numbers and gave some advice how to continue. A great uncle owns several houses, and has the material to complete the project… making everything easier and cheaper.
The big surprise is when he came back with a lovely gift. The chess-board my dad made long before I was born. The wood was newly sanded and finished, the squares dark and clear. It is just like it was when I played back when I played with my father as a small child. I could cry, as I really thought that my grandfather would want to keep it and remember his son — and everything I have in my life helps me remember my father. My heart is too touched to find adequate poetry.