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Early Memories...

So I know I've mentioned that I'm not a big St. Patty's Day celbrater, but here's why - 24 years ago on March 18th my great-grandfather died. I will never forget that day. I know some of you will were only like 5 years old then, but I remember. Vividly.

It was a bright, sunny day. Gorgeous out, but I wasn't outside playing. Nope. I was being bitten by my little sister. She was going for and drawing blood. I, in turn, started crying and ran up the stairs to tell Mom.

This is the part I will never forget. The sun was streaming, I mean like blindly so, in the 2 front windows of the sitting area in Mom and Dad's bedroom. They had turned it into their shared office/sewing room, and Mom was sitting at Dad's desk and crying. I didn't see the phone in her hand, but then again she was facing west and had her left side towards me. I stopped crying and hollering, which I'd been doing all the way up the stairs, and in a very small voice asked her what was wrong.

She turned towards me with tears running down her face and just opened her arms. I ran to her. I remember wondering why she was crying, but more importantly just feeling safe and hopefully making her feel better, because her hugs always made me feel better. Mom, for her part, did finally realize that I was bleeding and returned to Mom-mode in a blink, but I wouldn't let her. I asked her why she was crying, and that's when she hesitated. She told me that Pe' had died.

Everything after that was kind of a blur. I know I started crying and Mom started again, and she was trying to bandage my arm, while fussing at Nicole, Dana was flitting around and Dad came home early. Up until a few years ago, I still had a scar from that bite and a reminder of that awful day.

I'm thinking of you today Pe Pe.


1 comment:

  1. It is amazing how we can remember something so clearly from so far back in our childhood. Grandparents are so special, like jewels.
    I teach first graders and I always love to hear the sweet names children give these special people. I had Nana, Nuni and my Dad's father, who I called, Pop. I would walk up to him, like a little hoodlum and say, Hi-yah, Pop. I can still smell his sweet smelling cigars and see his thick white hair. Nuni was my beloved Italian grandmother who lived to be 99 and boy, could she cook! Yum!