BITTERSWEET

I saw a post today that one of my favorite childhood friend's grandfather passed away.

There was a photo of him on the screen.

And suddenly I felt the loss deeply of this man I had only met a few times.

Whose name I don't even know.

I was five when my grandfather passed away. He was my only one.

My memories are few and fleeting.

I can't tell you what his voice sounded like or his laugh.

I don't remember if he gave big deep hugs or if he was the kind of guy more likely to offer you a pat on the shoulder.

I don't know if he smelled of Brylcreem or Ivory soap.

I don't know if he commanded the room like my father or if his wife lit the place up instead.

Was he harsh or kind or both?

I remember his sagging face. The smell of whiskey. A brown leather couch.

He always had a bag of Hershey's mixed chocolates: Milk, Krackle, Mr. Goodbar (the worst pick in the bag) and finally Special dark chocolate. He saved the Specials for me. He Told me I was special. I was so young and I still ate the bitter chocolate greedily.

For years, I thought I liked it best, but really, I only liked the memory.

I liked feeling like the name on the wrapper.

I looked at my friend's grandfather and I did the math.

Thirty nine years since mine passed away.

This is no argument about fairness.

My friend lost her father a decade ago and mine still calls me every Sunday.

But I can't help but wonder how it would have felt to have him longer.

To have the memories and the history that my siblings are old enough to carry.

My friend Laura and I were born only a week or two apart. Our grandfathers were friends.

They showed each other pictures and bragged about us.

Maybe our friendship began then with my Paw Paw and her Grandaddy Greening.

Two old men (who forty three years ago weren't nearly as old as I thought they were) bursting with pride over their best girls.

I don't have many memories.

But I carry this picture in my head of my grandfather and hers talking about us.

Loving us in the way only a PawPaw or a Grandaddy can.

It is a love I barely remember but it special.

The memory bittersweet.

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