"In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul".
The telephone rang this afternoon, it was my dear mother. I can not keep the conversations I have with her lately off my mind. There's a book I read to Rose about 1 1/2 years ago entitled, Always My Grandpa by Linda Scacco. As we read it I cried silent tears. Rose was just beginning to understand. She saw the resemblance of someone dear to her, her grandma. This one took her to favorite restaurants to get the choicest food, shared hours dreaming over shiny catalogues and the beautiful dolls to be ordered, and on perpetually every visit there were guaranteed sour lemon drops, juicy fruit gum or a trinket bought at roadside stops. Grandma made everything brighter and her specialness was absolute. But just as in the hardback cover of that library book, grandma has changed. Thankfully, at the present time she still gives warm hugs and she tells us how much she loves us, but it is so different and frankly we miss the old grandma terribly. All the studies and doctor's reports tell us what lies ahead. It is like an approaching storm that we are witnessing. We are sad.
Gentle breeze how you mourn
Touches of April, but for now it's winter.
Frolicking children see them play
Warmed by life,
Heedless of the storm.
The dark clouds shadow the playground.
The soft drops of misty rain turn to pelting streams,
Running steps, hurrying inside
But one lone child turns and looks back
Not missing the sun rays behind the clouds.
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