We’ve never met but I’m a little bit in love with you. I married your grandson, and his stories about you make me feel like, had we known each other, we would have been great friends.
I never knew my grandfathers, both of them passing away before I was even born, so the idea of B. having had you in his life makes me happy. And from what I’ve been told, it sounds like you brought a tremendous amount of joy to him.
I know that you lived with B. and his parents for several years in your old age; it’s the stories from those years that have endeared you to me. For example, the way you would drive your old car to the same luncheonette each morning to eat breakfast and sip coffee, read the newspaper, and listen in to what everyone was saying (aha — so that’s where B. gets that from!). The way you told B.’s mom, after the first time she brought you to an adult daycare center for a few hours, “Never bring me there again — that place is filled with old people!” (never stopping to think that you yourself were elderly). And the way you flirted with the girls in B.’s group of friends and counseled B. when he was upset about a particular girl jilting him (“I never liked her anyway — she was never good enough for you!”).
Well, hopefully, you’d think that I’m good enough for your grandson; I know that he thinks so. Because right there on my left hand is the diamond that you gave your own wife. It had been put in safekeeping by your daughter for when B. was ready to give it — and his heart — away, and I’m the lucky recipient.
Right back at you, Jack.
© 2013 Claudia Grossman