Her Favorite Kind of Forever

July 23, 2014

It was still dark when she woke up. She looked over and found that he was gone, just as she suspected that he would be. She walked out to the couch and curled up there to wait for him.

Time passed and she woke to the sound of the front door opening as he let himself back into the house. She waited while he set down his gear and made his way up the stairs. It was all she could do to keep herself from running to him. As soon as he saw her, his eyes lit up and a smile crossed his face. He knew.

She looked up at him with one simple request, "Can we make some farina, Ghiddu?"

As quietly as they could, they went into the kitchen and started getting everything out. She wrestled the step stool over to the stove while he got out the pot, a wooden spoon, milk, and of course, the farina. She watched as he carefully measured and poured and stirred and then came the moment she was waiting for...

"Okay, watch the clock. The hand will go around two times and then we eat!" He had taught her how to watch the hand and those instructions were her favorite part of their farina making.

As she stood beside him on the stool and watched the hand go around the clock, time stood still. It seemed to take forever for the hand to go around two whole times. Those quiet morning minutes were some of her favorite. In fact, they were her favorite kind of forever...

* * * 

That little story up there is true. It's my story and the story of my favorite kind of forever. My Ghiddu (Arabic for "grandfather") died just after I turned eight. I miss him terribly and I cherish the memories that we made together.

A few weeks ago, my Mom and I were dropping my siblings off at their drama camp which happened to be at a community athletic complex. We saw all kinds of people coming and going. One morning, an old man followed us out. I smiled really big and said hello to him. 

My Mom said, "What was that about??!?! Greeting the creepers now, huh?" 

I laughed and replied, "Umm...He wasn't a creeper! In fact..." And then I realized that he had a racquet. I said, "Didn't you see his racquet? He just finished some racquetball and now he's headed home to fix his grandaughter...." and the sentence was choked out by tears.

A strange old man with a racquetball racquet made me bawl at nine o'clock in the morning just because he walked by. 

My Mom started laughing, "Oh, great. Now she's crying!"

As we're walking through the parking lot and I'm trying to get myself together, I glance over at the pool area. I saw nothing other than another old man. This one was wearing some tiny little speedo shorts. And then you know what I did? True to my Grandma's fashion, with tears running down my face, I busted up laughing. 

A strange old man prancing around in tiny speedo shorts turned my crying into laughter. 

I cried. I laughed. And I cried some more because both my Grandma and my Ghiddu are gone and so many things remind me of them. 

And you know what?

I'm glad. 

When I posted THIS POST, Kiki asked me to tell the story. Thank you, Kiki! :)