The year, unknown,
The place, unknown
I was 13 years old, abandoned by both my mother and farther, I felt alone. Raised by a caring but old man, my grandfather. This man gave his life for me in a literal sense, he told me stories about when he was young, playing down by the old wood mill. Stories about how he and his siblings used to cut small narrow branches off trees and then use an old peeling knife their grandfather had given them to make flimsy bows and arrows that fired straight and strong.
William was his name; a good man, a brave and caring soul. He used to tell of times he would joke and share tales of times gone bye with locals at his favorite public house. William, my grandfather was strong, bred in times when men were men and did not show real emotion.
In truth, there were times when hearing through a wooden wall at night, when usually the only thing that could be heard was the wind, rain or owls a calling; was the sound of my strong and brave grandfather, sobbing, a sound at first I could not recognize. You see; he too was abandoned. He was raised by his farther, his mother left without word when he was only young. Married twice, widowed once, his front as this strong and bold man, had a soft and gooey inner.
This memory was vivid; walking the two mile journey home from school, past the old wood mill, with friends skipping, and pushing each other around as good friends did, I reached home. My grandfather had a staunch look upon his face, like he had something important to say, he did. He asked me to sit, while he poured himself a drink. Something seemed different; he was tense and seemed unsure about what to say. He always thought of me as his own, as did I, my farther I would often think of him. He gazed into my eyes, and with a firm face and broad shoulders said, my son I have to leave. In that moment and as a 13 year old boy I did not understand, I was confused and asked him why? He said; son, I am leaving to help make our family proud again. I am still unsure but I believe our dysfunctional family had taken part of his dignity and pride? He never explained why but did say it was necessary to keep me safe, to keep all of us safe.
And there and as always, was the case, this dream ended. Never reveling any more, never giving me answers why?
The year is 1990 and as in my dream I was 13 years old. I always assumed I had this dream because it was it was just a reflection of my own life? You see, my Mother gave birth to me at an early age and my real ‘Farther’, I begrudge even calling him that was abusive, a thug and a bully towards my young and vulnerable Mother. I was raised by my Grandfather, Gordan. He was everything the man in my dreams was. Good, caring and brave. I do love him dearly.
At the age of 22, Gordan passed away suddenly, I was devastated. After many painful weeks, I used to sit and ponder. I realized that after growing up with this good man for 22 years, I felt as though I barely knew him. He used to spend most of his time, after a long day at work, watching T.V., never speaking much, except about me or my day at school. Being young I guess I was more consumed with my own life, as many adulterants are. Growing up I felt so connected to him, I would never have become the man I am now without him. I went on a mission to learn more about him.
My Grandfather has a sister, Barbara. I went to see her to find out more about him and the life that he led. When I asked about his life, she told me many great things, about his character, humorous personality and ever glowing smile. Then, she began to speak about their childhood. What she told me next sent shivers through my spine.
She told me how their mother left when they were only young. How their farther raised them alone but had a joyous and happy childhood. My Grandfather, Gordan, never spoke of his own parents or his childhood. Being young it never crossed my mind to ask. When I ask what as children they used to do, she replied by saying that she used to love playing by the wood mill, I was in shock! She told about times when they thought their old and creaky house would fall down upon them. So much of what she said brought memories back of the dream I used to have. I asked about the woods down by the old wood mill and asked about what they used to do. She told of times they would throw rocks into the stream and play Indians and fire arrows into trees. I then told her about the dream I used to have; she said it could not be possible. I then asked more about their farther and why the man that raised me never spoke his name? Barbara said that he died during the war and my grandfather was so devastated he choose to never speak of him again. She explained how when she tried, Gordan would close up and divert the subject. She could not explain how I could possibly know or dream about the things I had.
To this day I still cannot explain why or how my dreams as a child were a reflection of my own grandfathers past. I believe our connection was more than words or thoughts can explain. Gordan could not bring himself to tell about the most difficult and painful times in his life but as a child and because of the most purist love that one can bestow upon another, I felt his pain, his lost, through the love that we both shared.
My Grandfather, your always in my heart.