Rain (Liberia, Guanacaste, Costa Rica). CC2.0 photo by NannyDaddy.
Gampa
By Charity Paschall
I come here often. Every time it rains, in fact, you may
find me here. I walk the paths we walked, still holding the umbrella slightly
to one side—more to her side than mine—protecting her as I did once, from the
raindrops.
I can still feel her tiny hand in mine—still see her smiling
up at me—so beautiful, so perfect.
I see her tiny yellow raincoat and cap, tiny black galoshes
as she splashes through the puddles. “Hurry up, Gampa,” she says. My beautiful
granddaughter, bald beneath her raincap—she enjoys these walks to the bakery
for our special treat—rainy day cupcakes.
Now her joy has been stolen—replaced by pain. Her cancer
came back, throwing her out of remission and into the hospital. Three months
now, she has been there, her body in the grip of the cancer; doctor’s and drugs
doing all they can to save my special girl.
I leave her side only when it rains. I’ll bring her back a
rainy day cupcake. I know she can’t eat it, but sometimes her eyes flutter open
and she smiles a sad smile for me. I smile back at her as my tears echo her
pain.
I hope you enjoyed this story. I would love to hear from you in the comment section!
No comments:
Post a Comment