As I sit here, I can see across the room a framed photograph of my maternal grandparents. Grandpa and Grandma Waters were and still are very dear to my heart. In the photo, they are standing in front of my grandpa’s rosebushes. I miss them still, but I know they are very close. My middle name, Alan, is my grandpa’s–Alan Waters.
My only memories of him are from my childhood. He died just before I turned 12. I always think of him as an old man, even though I am now 8 years older than he was when he passed. He was rather quiet–I remember him outside working on his vegetable garden, contentedly alone. The roses he grew were amazing. To smell them was to catch a breeze from heaven itself. I learned to cycle along a path that wound around his rosebushes. I fell into them once or twice, and that was not as heavenly.
Like many men of that generation, he served in the army during World War I. He became a medic–he did not want to have to kill the enemy. He did not speak about his experiences, but the injuries soldiers sustained during that war were often horrific. He must have seen and had to deal with ghastly injuries. And he was only in his early twenties.
From everything I have heard about him, he was a man of strong principle and religious conviction. I wish I had been able to chat with him as an adult, listen to his views on things, and perhaps even argue with him. That would have been wonderful! But he died before I was even a teenager. I believe most strongly, though, that one day I will meet him in the spiritual world, where one day we all will go. I look forward to listening to him, listening to his wisdom.
There is something else I look forward to. I got interested in learning to play chess shortly after he passed. My grandma stepped in and taught me as much as she knew about the game. There were certain points she did not remember, so I went to the library to get books on chess. To this day, I still play chess. I’ve never been that great at it, but I enjoy it. If there is chess in heaven, and I do not see why they would not be, my hope is that he and I will play some games. And somewhere, deep inside my heart, I hope I lose.
I’m three years younger than you, but I too remember the roses. They were beautiful, with a heavenly scent, but also very prickly. I learnt to ride my cousin Peter’s bike among them – and it was a great incentive to stay on the saddle!
When I think of our grandpa, I remember him mending my doll, taking a splinter out of the palm of my hand, bending over the vegetables he grew in the garden, holding the cat while he had an injection from the vet – and telling grandma not to give the boys (that’s you, Patrick, and brother Michael) any dinner if you were late back after playing outside! We were all such hungry children, I do hope you never had to miss a meal, but that I fail to remember.