His Memories

His memories are of fond recollection,
those of a young boy awed with the
white-bearded presence of a grandfather,
attention to the hesitant curiosity of a
child. There, too, are memories of a
stoop-backed, pleated-faced grandmother,
forever offering hugs and proudly warm
glances, along with little saucers
dancing with raisins and almonds.

So unlike his own father and mother,
his grandparents, though stooped
with age, exuded kindness and charity.
His father, he knew, depended on what
he construed as his entitlement to
another type of charity, claiming constant
financial need, when none was there,
dismaying and threatening the frail pair.

When the young boy grew older, married,
he brought his young wife to visit the
wisps that remained of his grandparents;
worn with time and the efforts of
existence, their faded presence still dear
without peer. Finally, three young
children of his own, there was a funeral,
for two aged people, expired in tandem.

Long-lived, the ancient man and his wife
took their leave of the sons and daughters
they had borne and those countless others,
successive generations, expanding the
pair's tenuously-transparent existence.
Themselves once young, moving relentlessly
toward the finality of elderly presence.

The heirlooms of the old couple's time
as progenitors of a wide brood, their
heritage and values assumed and widely
acclaimed. Their worldly wealth, modestly
valuable, distributed among the cast of
men and women who owed their
existence to the now-dear departed.

Two unobtrusive, small items went
unclaimed. The grandmother's simple,
unadorned marriage ring removed at
death, not left for the burial. The
grandfather's cherished horn-carved,
translucent, ochre shaded snuffbox.
Of no value to the acquisitive hoard,
dividing between them items of value.

Offered, as a last resort, to the grandson
and gratefully accepted. That grandchild,
now looking back, as advanced in frail
years now as was once his grandfather.