GRANDFATHERS

Never had one myself. 

     Only had one Grandmother. 

          Thought she was awful special. 

                 She was all I needed as far as I knew. 

There’s an old saying, you don’t know what you have until you lose it.  Well, the other side of that saying might be that you don’t know what you missed if you didn’t have it.

But a Grandfather died, recently, and it kind of opened my eyes.  He was an old guy, they called him “Red”.  I didn’t really know him, just who he was.  Actually, he was my cousin’s father-in-law.  Thus, her kids, John and Julie, were his grandchildren, and he was their ‘Granpa’.  Their dad, my cousin’s hubby,  was “Red’s” only child.  He’s a really nice guy and I always thought Gib, the son, was a good father.   Never thought much about why or how he came to be such a good father.  Oh, well!

When I got to the funeral, it was kind of a different service.  The minister read two letters, one from “Red’s” wife and another  from the grandson, John.  The first letter gave me a portrait of a loving man, who was entirely successful and made his part of the couple/marriage thing really special for his wife.  The second letter showed me pieces of what I had missed in my life without a grandfather. 

             Now, I had known men who were grandfathers.  And plenty of my cousins had their own grandfathers on the other side.  And I saw the movie, “Heidi,” more than once and had an idea what a grandfather was supposed to be. 

                But when the minister finished reading John’s letter, describing not only the material things, the good times, the lessons learned, the shared experiences, a real loving grandfather relationship, I felt a loss.  I felt the loss for John and Julie, and I felt a new and different understanding of that loss in my life as well. 

                I thanked God for “Red”.  For his influence and lifetime touch on John and Julie.  And for his influence, even in death, on me, too.  And I thanked God again for Gramma, cause she did all she could and was all she could be for me, because she was all I had for a “Grandparent”.

So here’s to the Iris Garden for Grandparents:

Beneath My Wings. 

Pic is from the  Iris garden at the Missouri Botanical Garden

in St. Louis, Missouri, USA.