(Rated Rg2: Mature Readers Only)
My grandfather said it’s the little things.
The seemingly inconsequential things.
They add up to a love affair that buries itself in the safe rooms of the mind, in the marrow of the bones, in the chambers of the heart.
When his first marriage ended in divorce, he mentioned that he’d retraced his steps. Re-lived his actions. Replayed his words. To her.
Once the anger, which is simply code for hurt, subsided, he was then able to reckon with, to admit his missteps. Clarity had surfaced and the veneer of resentment fell away into the ether of time.
I asked him, ‘If you could do it over, what would you do differently to salvage what it was that brought you two together from the get?’
After a moment of silent reflection, a deeper introspection, he replied, “I would have written down my feelings and read them aloud to her.”
He had me enthralled by the last of his words, ” . .. read them aloud to her.” As if her simply reading them on paper, alone, wouldn’t have conveyed the intended effect, I thought to myself, and asked him.
“She can read them from the page and, sure enough, if the words are sincere, she’ll be affected,” he explained. “Hearing them from the author, she gets the added dimension, she takes in his body language, the inflections of the voice, the sincerity of the recital. She’s an audience of one. A woman loves that. Forever.”
I had never heard anyone sum it up as such–let alone a man secure enough in himself to reveal as much.
My grandfather died soon after that conversation. A part of me died with him, so close we were.
But a much greater part of me has lived. Flourished even.
He was imperfect, my grandfather. I, probably even more.
But that’s no excuse to falter, to not live up to what God has given me, given us both. This specialness we share.
Which is why I wrote down my feelings and my thoughts of you. Of us. I even went to the effort of printing up in book form what I want to say to you.
Now, if you’d come away with me, just you and me, I know of a patch of virgin grass next to an old, mighty oak that offers the perfect getaway.
There’re some things I want to say to you. I want to reveal to you. I’d very much like to express to you . . . for tomorrow is not promised to us.
I want to read to you, my lady. Your ears and your heart alone.
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.
Pamper the woman . . . with the little things. -Herbert Brooks
© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®