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February 2017


www.prairietimes.com Thank them for running ads in the Prairie Times Feb 6, 2017 Prairie Times The Prairie Times


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1


Charles Oz Collins


It did not promise to be a special Valentine‟s Day. We took lunch to Grandma, alone since Grandpa had died six weeks earlier. A pall hung over the extended family at his passing after more than one hundred years of gracing God‟s good earth. Lunch was uneventful as Grandma recounted the phone calls and visits of the previous week which were now the essence of her existence.


With dinner finished, we turned to the inevitable but unenviable task of boxing up Grandpa‘s clothes. Pam and I began, pulling shirts and suits from the closet. She insisted they be neatly folded. Perhaps it was a final visit for her with her beloved Grandpa. She‘d been at his side in the early morning hours when he left to be with his Lord. Here was a final goodbye in the mundane task of getting rid of old clothes.


We recognized some of the suits though he only wore them when he had to, church, funerals, weddings, and such. Work clothes revealed the rigors of farm life, a patch here, a stain there, and plenty of wear. I sensed tears near the surface as folding began. I suggested all the pockets be searched, for Grandpa, like many men, tended to put things in his pockets and forget them. Someone joked we could keep all the money we found. Apart from a couple crumpled hand- kerchiefs and a like number of paper napkins from a long forgotten restaurant, the greatest prize was a quarter and small change. Another pocket yielded a well chewed toothpick, no doubt stored there for further and future use. A solitary comb put in an appearance, and two breath mints, seemingly new.


I turned to the closet for another load when I heard a throaty ―Oh‖ behind me. Pam stood with a suit coat in one hand and a colored paper napkin in the other.


She held it as though she‘d found a jewel of rare beauty. Tears welled and overflowed as she choked out ―my wedding napkin!‖ and rushed in to share her joy with Mom and Grandma. For eleven years that fragile swatch of monogrammed tissue, designed to be used once and tossed aside, had survived the comings-and- goings of the old gentleman. No doubt it, too, had attended funerals, church services, and other weddings in the course of its seemingly charmed existence.


As we left the little farmhouse, Pam carried several treasures from her Grandpa: a sweat-stained old work hat, a pair of suspenders, and on top the cherished napkin. For the second time in an hour I heard her say ―Oh, Oh!‖ followed by an urgent ―My napkin!‖ I looked up in time to see the bit of colored memory swirl over the top of the house and disappear in the strong breeze. I‘m beyond the point of running well but rounded the corner at a speed that had I had time to consider would have surprised me. Behind the house I frantically searched the large yard in vain and was at the point of turning my


attention to the hopelessly large field beyond. I glanced back a last time toward the house and there in a little nook out of the wind lay Pam‘s link to her Grandpa. I carried it in a firm grip to its rightful owner.


We might speculate why it was Pam who found her own wedding napkin in the pocket of this man she adored. I shudder to think I might have pulled the crumpled mass from that pocket and without looking discarded it with several others found that day. Of all the family and granddaughters, why were we the ones conducting this sad ritual that turned so joyous? I believe there is but one possible answer: God is the giver of good gifts both great and small. 


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