Thursday, July 24, 2014


My youthful hands loved to rub my Grandpa's facial skin, fascinated by how loose and prickly it was. He would get frustrated on the exterior, playfully shouting things like 'Go'way, gyal!' in his thick, Geechee accent, but I paid it no mind, because I could see the blush beaming through his caramel colored skin. I'd caress his face the way I treasured it and became joyous by the texture. Gramma would sit in her chair across the room and laugh like a giddy, adolescent school girl. Whether it was an expression of butterflies that existed after all those decades of marriage or her simply thinking the interaction was comical, I could feel the love and admiration there. A love that ascended from her to me and from him to me; from him to her and her to him. It flowed continuously like a peaceful river and in moments like this, I always felt so lucky to be there with them, to be surrounded by the gentle, yet powerful spirit of love. 

Over time, the skin became frail. Every time I touched it, it seemed like he would vanish in an instant. I couldn't understand how something that was so fun once upon a time now saddened me at the possibility that these moments would no longer exist and how him laying in a hospital bed didn't have the same affect as him sitting upright in a chair. But I still tried to touch him for as long as I could. As the rectangular box was ushered out of the church and finally lowered into the ground, I wept with anguish, realizing his physical presence would no longer be in my reach.  

Every time I visit my Gramma I sit and sleep in his recliner. I always thought it was so comfortable, but was never allowed to sit in it long, for he'd come in the room, commanding his spot be vacant. But since there was no one there to claim it, I sat there. One day, I walked in the room and sat, creating a mold with my body into the cushions. She laughed. She wasn't doing anything that I sensed would cause it, but she laughed some more to the point of hysteria. She couldn't explain why. Then, I laughed too. Reaction more than an actual feeling.  

That outburst would happen a few times within the next few years and even to this day. I finally understand why: it was his spirit was in the midst, that gentle yet powerful spirit, beaming through the reality of the natural realm.  Nostalgia captivated us both, and we laughed in light of the memories of him being there in that space with us, barely even noticing that he was gone. 

♥ Chymere A.


  1. This is so lovely and sweet. When I first realized my grandfather's spirit was in the midst I cried.


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