Grandfather

My Grandfather
December 15, 1964. A little girl and her brother found their grandfather on a peaceful hillside where he had closed his eyes for the final time. Around him was the Christmas greenery he had gone on the hill to gather for the family Christmas. This little girl felt so sad for so long. I’m not sad any more, but I have not forgotten. I will always remember the day I lost one of the best friends I would ever have. Only now as a grandmother myself can I even begin to fathom the depth of what you knew about being loving and kind and gentle. Even now, I miss you and every December 15th I remember you with love. Not for what I lost but for all the gifts you gave me.

I am chuckling at the fact I actually Googled that phrase and not surprised Google could not find it, returning only this message:

It looks like there aren’t any great matches for your search

This was a counting rhyme my grandfather often said to me, the words were counted out with a finger pointing back and forth between the two of us. Being so young, I never knew why the rhyme always ended with his finger pointing at me.

INK, SPINK, SPATTLE, SPEW
NOBODY STINKS BUT BARELY YOU

I just remember sitting on his lap, facing this kind white haired gentle giant as we played this out so many times. I can still see his large hands, twisted with age and hard work, extended to me as gentle as a lamb.

I could not do SoCS this morning. I could not make the words form in my mind. All I could think about was the image of me sitting on my grandfather’s knee, playing this rhyming game, giggling little girl giggles — a warm and beautiful way to slip away into kindness on this Saturday.