We climbed a mountain together, my roommate and I. Taking pictures along the way we drove to the top of the High Atlas Mountains in Morocco. And there we saw the footprints of the Sahara beneath the African sun. It was such a wondrous view and such a perfect gift. My roommate had given me this view, this trip to ancient wonders. My roommate gave this gift; my roommate was my Gram.
Such a wonderful gift.
And so now, we are sad, heartbroken really, at was taken away from us. Our mother, our grandmother, our sister our friend has passed away, but we must look past what was taken from us, and instead focus on the gift that was given to us.
She gave me so much. She gave me a backyard in Montclair where I could play wiffle ball with my father. She gave us Green. A backyard hidden from the road where pitch after pitch and hit after hit I knew that I was happy, for I was with my father playing ball on a perfect diamond, happy to be with family, the truest gift of all.
And when the time came, that backyard would be my brother’s and my campsite. It was a yard that housed a tent, a yellow tent, yellow as a banana where Mark and I would take our quarry of lightening bugs placed in mason jars and watch them into the night.
She gave me a cul’d sac that led to a magical park. She gave us a park where my brother and I would play and watch the clouds drift by with my father by my side deciding on their shape and definition.
She gave me an afternoon to play and help garden. She gave my mother and I, us, endless Saturdays, endless summer days to sit beneath the sun, resting. And as we rested, I would sit in my mother’s lap, a chair so perfectly suited for a five-year-old boy.
And she gave me a patio that looked out upon that backyard, where we, all of us, would share stories and laugh and joke and laugh some more until Uncle Greg leaned back in his chair, too far this time, and landed in the pachysandra. Still we laughed some more.
On some nights, we would sit eating peanuts and crackers and cheese, sipping on whiskey sours, and for the kids, Shirley Temples. I would listen to the stories of Africa and Aden and Australia and dreamed of living such a life, of travel and adventure, and to this day, I still dream of such things, for she gave us dreams and she taught us how to pursue them.
Later on in life, she gave me an afternoon with my grandfather. Due to a woman’s group meeting, my grandfather and I were kicked out of the house for a few hours as the women back home supped on finger sandwiches and tea. Grandpa Bill and I went to see a movie and then had lunch at the Circus Drive-In. I’m not sure that there were more than 15 sentences said between the two of us that day and that silence is still one of the fondest memories I’ve had the pleasure to share with a man I admired so greatly.
And so, as I speak of childhood memories, I am reminded that she gave me a foundation on which to become a man. I am reminded that she believed in me and at every step, offered encouragement. She loved my wife, my children, me, just as she loved her husband, her children, and her grandchildren. She taught us all how to love. She taught us all how to give.
And she gave us so much.
She gave us peace, she gave us family, and she gave us a home. She gave us a gift, for her life was a gift that cannot be taken away. She gave us friendship she gave us love, again, she gave us family.
And she gave us heaven, which is where I am sure she now rests.
Going forward, I sometimes try to think of life without her, but I still cannot picture such a scenario. For to do so would mean that we have forgotten days of sun and glory, nights of fireflies and afternoons spent playing in the splendor of life; to do so means that we have forgotten a mountain in Africa and a family in the world.
To do so would mean that we have forgotten Gram’s gift and that gift was she. Frankly, Gram is unforgettable.
We climbed a mountain together, Gram and I, and at the peak we saw the footprints of the Sahara.
Thank you, Gram. Thank you for your gift.
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