Chapter 12 - He Has Grandpa's Hands
In which I continue Part II - A Game of Chess of my memoir "My Own Private Waste Land"
12 – He Has Grandpa’s Hands
Portland, Ore. August 2004. After the memorial service, the family gathered at the Marriott Courtyard. I saw my brother’s children for the first time since they had grown up. The eldest, Anna, had two boys, about 6 and 9 years old. Lynn’s other three children, Seth, Elly, and Mary the youngest also stopped to visit.
We played in the hotel pool. I splashed and threw my grandnephews in the water as my brother threw me when I was a kid playing in our backyard pool. My mom and dad, aunt, and sisters sat and talked, asking Anna about her job and life, laughing through their grief at the promise of the young lives before them.
Then Kyle stopped and clawed at my arm. Kyle is Anna’s oldest. He has the Hornbrook look, the next in line following his grandfather and me.
He grabbed my hand and looked at it closely. Then he held up my arm and yelled.
“Mom, mom!”
“What. honey?”
“Mom! He has grandpa’s hands!”
Grandfather. My brother was a grandpa.
I had just met Kyle. He had never seen me and his grandfather alive together.
I quickly peered through the steamed up glass to the foliage outside the pool enclosure, looking for that ghostly shimmer.
I will never have children of my own.
Who is that striding always beside me?
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I write about:
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mental illness - major depressive disorder, suicide, borderline personality disorder, narcissistic personality disorder
sailing
alternative lifestyles - polyamory and kink
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