My Heart
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
A hole appeared in my heart two weeks ago. It started as a small pin prick in the lower left ventricle, on the side which my granddaughter Sofia used to stand and hold my hand when we walked together along the beach during her visit this summer; it started the day she left for the airport.
The hole is somewhat painful, but it has not resulted in a subsequent shortness of breath, or interior bleeding, or higher or lower blood pressure. The only obvious symptoms are a daily increase in long, deep sighing, and a small moistening behind both eyes; especially whenever I think of her saying: "I love you, Grandpa."
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
The visit by her and her beautiful Mommy-- my daughter, Mishi, started on July 15, 2008. It lasted a whole month.
My wife and I were waiting at Los Angeles airport in Terminal 6 to greet them. I had written the arrival information on a piece of paper. Virgin America; arrival time, 7:25PM. We found a seat off from the descending elevator and waited; of course given my faulty attention span, we missed them. After fifteen minutes of worry and confusion, I finally went to the arrival board; it said the plane had landed. I went to luggage to see if they were there. They were. I hastened toward Mishi and Sofia. Sofia looked at me, smiling in recognition but incomplete in feeling. "Where's Grammy?" I gestured behind me. Grammy appeared with a smile and youthful squeal equalling Sofia's.
I instantly saw that Sofia was no longer a toddler; she had grown into a little girl. After hugging Grammy tightly, she hugged me. I hugged her. I said to her: "You're three years old now, right?" "Four and a half," she snappily pronounced. She was offended. She looked to her mother. Mommy's smile seemed to assure her my mistake was forgivable. Thus began my playing clown to her Queen; and her acceptance of my loving grandfatherly foolishness.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
Mishi wanted Sofia to learn to swim. Grammy had already scheduled lessons every Tuesday and Thursday at a Swarthmore Avenue private pool with a teacher (Grammy was 'on the case' with vacation planning a whole month before they arrived). Grammy had also planned weekly visits with Grammy and Grandpa at the Rustic Canyon pool. (The deepest portion of Rustic Canyon pool is 4 feet.)
At Rustic Canyon pool, Grammy would squat in the water (I said 'good for Grammy's thighs'), while Sofia would hold onto Grammy's neck and kick her legs and show us how teacher taught her to scoop the water with her hands. I would stand or sit nearby, resting my thighs, watching and glowing with Grandfatherly pleasure and pride.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
"I don't like you young, Grandpa"
(The night before, Sofia had been looking at some pictures of me on the wall in my study, and her Mommy had told her earlier in the evening they were Grandpa when he was a young actor. Now we were looking at them together, scrutinizing them. She was frowning.)
"Are those pictures you?"
"Yes."
"I don't like you young."
"The were taken when I was acting. I was a young man. Everybody is young once."
She didn't respond.
"Aren't you young now? I was young then. And sometimes young Sofia makes sad faces, and angry faces, and happy faces, I made faces then. I was young. And I was an actor."
She considered that for a moment. She stared at me. Troubled.
"I don't like you young."
I looked at her. She was truly, deeply troubled. I looked deeply into her eyes.
"I promise you I will never be young again."
"Good. I want you the way you are."
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
There is a portion of Santa Monica Beach, south of the Santa Monica pier, that has become Sofia's favorite stretch of sand. The year before, at the same beach, shy of the water, she had run away from each wave, barely getting her feet wet. This year Grammy had to save her from drowning. Sofia was in the waves and half way to the mid-Pacific when Grammy stopped her.
We went to the beach many times. Sofia would build sand castles at the water's edge, and run after pigeons. One day she enticed me into chasing her and I actually ran. I mean, I lifted my legs, pounded the sand, actual running. I remember being amazed that I still knew how to run, after so many years. Both of us were amazed. Her eyes, and mine, were wide with shock when I caught up with her; and tumbled her to the sand. Actual, real, running!
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
"Baryshnikov is my Prince Charming," she said one day. She was not allowed to watch much TV while she was in California. Moreover, she was only allowed to bring a few of her favorite DVDs to California. "There is too much to do in California," her mother had said before leaving home. "Besides, you're getting too big to watch a lot of TV."
Mommy had decided to put Sofia on a TV diet. So only two DVDs, "Dumbo" and "The Nutcracker", were brought along on the trip.
One day, seated on the big bed--as a special treat (more probably to an exhausted set of Grandparents than to Sofia)--Grammy sat on one side and I on the other, and Sofia sat in the middle. We watched Baryshnikov's version of "The Nutcracker".
Sofia's back was straight. her eyes unwaveringly focused on the screen. During the tenderest pas de deux between the lovers, she announced again: "Baryshnikov is my Prince Charming."
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
"Do you speak Spanish?" she asked. "No," I said. "Only English." She paused a moment and said, a fact more than a boast, "I speak Spanish and English." That is true. She is linguistically a third of the way to her Daddy, who speaks six; and two thirds of the way to her Mommy, who speaks three. "I am still trying to master English," I explained to Sofia. "Poor Grandpa is still working on that."
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
One night Sofia and I could not find the moon. It was a game we had played the year before. We would go out to the patio, or to street in front of the house, search the nighttime sky for the moon and if we could not find it (generally because it was behind the hills or tall buildings), We would get in the car and she and I would "chase the moon"; I would drive to ever higher and higher locations until we found the moon. I promised her I would always find the moon for her.
One night during this visit the moon was no apparent we went to 'chase the moon'. The canyon I live in obliterated a view of the moon (or so I thought) and so we went to chase it once again. This time it was just the two of us. She was only dressed in her pajamas and slippers. But no matter how high we drove in the car, or the distance we travelled, we could not find the moon. (Stupidly, I had not consulted the weather map that day: the moon was not scheduled to appear in the skies of Los Angeles for another week!)
But I was relentless in my ignorance; after all my reputation as 'moon chaser' was at stake.
We drove all over West LA, finally arriving at the Santa Monica pier; I thought it would have the most unobstructed view of the nighttime sky. I paid $7 to park right on the pier. Still no moon. But...the pier did have bright lights, and the Ferris wheel, and the bumper cars, and the honky-tonk music.
We got out of the car and joined the crowds. It was 9:30 at night, warm and balmy, and families were everywhere. Into the midst of them trod I and Sofia, her eyes wide and shiny like new silver dollars, moving happily hand-in-hand with Grandpa, through crowds and music and festivities.
We deposited a few coins for a few mild rides on the little cars in front of the Pier casino, and we walked the pier to the edge and looked down at the lights as they played across the breaking waves off the side of the pier.
Finally good sense hit me. Her Mommy would kill me if I didn't get Sofia home soon. Sofia felt my hand leading her away from the fencing. She leaned over the bar one last time, stared at the lighted water, smiled up at me, and we trundled back to the car, still hand in hand. Not finding the moon had been forgotten.
Every time during all the subsequent days of vacation, when we past the pier on our various family outings, Sofia's eyes would widen and she would proclaim: "There's the Pier, Grandpa!"
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
Ten days later, late at night, arriving home from somewhere, I opened the car door, Sofia disembarked, and pointed to the sky. "The moon." And there it was: ten days late, but the moon had appeared in the Los Angeles nighttime sky once again, and I reclaimed my 'moon chaser' reputation.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
We bought Sofia two DVDs during her visit: "Cinderella"; and also "The Wizard of Oz". (Mommy's TV diet had to be modified a bit.)
Watching them, her mind and heart were enraptured in fairytale magic, especially by "The Wizard of Oz". Each time she viewed it, her eyes grew in size like when we went to the pier. They seemed not to blink. They drew in the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, and the Scarecrow, into the deep well of her imagination...and most especially Dorothy and her red shoes. "Follow the Yellow Brick road; Follow the Yellow Brick road..." we sang all week.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
After dinner, after dark, we often played Monster-in-the-room. She and I would go to the big bed, she would turn out all the lights, and I would lay on the bed, quiver and cry, frightened, as she would return to the bed and hold me and tell me not to be afraid.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
"Grandpa, tonight I'll read to you." "Okay," I said. Sofia read to me. Six books, with pages turning and words memorized.
Grammy read to her on the next evening: outside, on the patio, both covered in a blanket, as the pages were illuminated by a solo flashlight. It became an even more focused wonderful mystery of reading.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
The night before Sofia and her her Mommy were scheduled to leave, Grammy and Grandpa seemed unable to leave her room. Goodbyes lingered, and Grandpa had to lie and the bed and get one last long hug. Sofia rolled over on him, and rocked back and forth. "Oh, Grandpa...I love you so much. I'll miss you. You know [she emphasized 'KNOW'] if I didn't have to see my Daddy back in Washington, DC, and my friends Anya, Josie and Nathanial, and get ready for pre-K [pre-kindergarten], I'd stay with you forever." She rocked again and said: "Oh, Grandpa, you've got to let me go." I looked at my daughter standing at the end of the bed. She looked at me. "It's in the genes," she said, a reference to my lifetime as an actor.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
At the airport, she ascended the escalator hand in hand with her beloved Mommy. As they were about to disappear in to anonymity of the security lines, she turned and waved one last time. The lady next to me said: "Is that your Granddaughter?"
"Yes," I said. "She's so beautiful." "Yes," I sighed.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
How does one fill a hole that has gotten so large in so short a time?
With the same material that created the hole in the first place: Memories. God's greatest gift (and curse) to humankind.
A hole appeared in my heart two weeks ago. It started as a small pin prick in the lower left ventricle, on the side which my granddaughter Sofia used to stand and hold my hand when we walked together along the beach during her visit this summer; it started the day she left for the airport.
The hole is somewhat painful, but it has not resulted in a subsequent shortness of breath, or interior bleeding, or higher or lower blood pressure. The only obvious symptoms are a daily increase in long, deep sighing, and a small moistening behind both eyes; especially whenever I think of her saying: "I love you, Grandpa."
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
The visit by her and her beautiful Mommy-- my daughter, Mishi, started on July 15, 2008. It lasted a whole month.
My wife and I were waiting at Los Angeles airport in Terminal 6 to greet them. I had written the arrival information on a piece of paper. Virgin America; arrival time, 7:25PM. We found a seat off from the descending elevator and waited; of course given my faulty attention span, we missed them. After fifteen minutes of worry and confusion, I finally went to the arrival board; it said the plane had landed. I went to luggage to see if they were there. They were. I hastened toward Mishi and Sofia. Sofia looked at me, smiling in recognition but incomplete in feeling. "Where's Grammy?" I gestured behind me. Grammy appeared with a smile and youthful squeal equalling Sofia's.
I instantly saw that Sofia was no longer a toddler; she had grown into a little girl. After hugging Grammy tightly, she hugged me. I hugged her. I said to her: "You're three years old now, right?" "Four and a half," she snappily pronounced. She was offended. She looked to her mother. Mommy's smile seemed to assure her my mistake was forgivable. Thus began my playing clown to her Queen; and her acceptance of my loving grandfatherly foolishness.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
Mishi wanted Sofia to learn to swim. Grammy had already scheduled lessons every Tuesday and Thursday at a Swarthmore Avenue private pool with a teacher (Grammy was 'on the case' with vacation planning a whole month before they arrived). Grammy had also planned weekly visits with Grammy and Grandpa at the Rustic Canyon pool. (The deepest portion of Rustic Canyon pool is 4 feet.)
At Rustic Canyon pool, Grammy would squat in the water (I said 'good for Grammy's thighs'), while Sofia would hold onto Grammy's neck and kick her legs and show us how teacher taught her to scoop the water with her hands. I would stand or sit nearby, resting my thighs, watching and glowing with Grandfatherly pleasure and pride.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
"I don't like you young, Grandpa"
(The night before, Sofia had been looking at some pictures of me on the wall in my study, and her Mommy had told her earlier in the evening they were Grandpa when he was a young actor. Now we were looking at them together, scrutinizing them. She was frowning.)
"Are those pictures you?"
"Yes."
"I don't like you young."
"The were taken when I was acting. I was a young man. Everybody is young once."
She didn't respond.
"Aren't you young now? I was young then. And sometimes young Sofia makes sad faces, and angry faces, and happy faces, I made faces then. I was young. And I was an actor."
She considered that for a moment. She stared at me. Troubled.
"I don't like you young."
I looked at her. She was truly, deeply troubled. I looked deeply into her eyes.
"I promise you I will never be young again."
"Good. I want you the way you are."
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
There is a portion of Santa Monica Beach, south of the Santa Monica pier, that has become Sofia's favorite stretch of sand. The year before, at the same beach, shy of the water, she had run away from each wave, barely getting her feet wet. This year Grammy had to save her from drowning. Sofia was in the waves and half way to the mid-Pacific when Grammy stopped her.
We went to the beach many times. Sofia would build sand castles at the water's edge, and run after pigeons. One day she enticed me into chasing her and I actually ran. I mean, I lifted my legs, pounded the sand, actual running. I remember being amazed that I still knew how to run, after so many years. Both of us were amazed. Her eyes, and mine, were wide with shock when I caught up with her; and tumbled her to the sand. Actual, real, running!
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
"Baryshnikov is my Prince Charming," she said one day. She was not allowed to watch much TV while she was in California. Moreover, she was only allowed to bring a few of her favorite DVDs to California. "There is too much to do in California," her mother had said before leaving home. "Besides, you're getting too big to watch a lot of TV."
Mommy had decided to put Sofia on a TV diet. So only two DVDs, "Dumbo" and "The Nutcracker", were brought along on the trip.
One day, seated on the big bed--as a special treat (more probably to an exhausted set of Grandparents than to Sofia)--Grammy sat on one side and I on the other, and Sofia sat in the middle. We watched Baryshnikov's version of "The Nutcracker".
Sofia's back was straight. her eyes unwaveringly focused on the screen. During the tenderest pas de deux between the lovers, she announced again: "Baryshnikov is my Prince Charming."
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
"Do you speak Spanish?" she asked. "No," I said. "Only English." She paused a moment and said, a fact more than a boast, "I speak Spanish and English." That is true. She is linguistically a third of the way to her Daddy, who speaks six; and two thirds of the way to her Mommy, who speaks three. "I am still trying to master English," I explained to Sofia. "Poor Grandpa is still working on that."
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
One night Sofia and I could not find the moon. It was a game we had played the year before. We would go out to the patio, or to street in front of the house, search the nighttime sky for the moon and if we could not find it (generally because it was behind the hills or tall buildings), We would get in the car and she and I would "chase the moon"; I would drive to ever higher and higher locations until we found the moon. I promised her I would always find the moon for her.
One night during this visit the moon was no apparent we went to 'chase the moon'. The canyon I live in obliterated a view of the moon (or so I thought) and so we went to chase it once again. This time it was just the two of us. She was only dressed in her pajamas and slippers. But no matter how high we drove in the car, or the distance we travelled, we could not find the moon. (Stupidly, I had not consulted the weather map that day: the moon was not scheduled to appear in the skies of Los Angeles for another week!)
But I was relentless in my ignorance; after all my reputation as 'moon chaser' was at stake.
We drove all over West LA, finally arriving at the Santa Monica pier; I thought it would have the most unobstructed view of the nighttime sky. I paid $7 to park right on the pier. Still no moon. But...the pier did have bright lights, and the Ferris wheel, and the bumper cars, and the honky-tonk music.
We got out of the car and joined the crowds. It was 9:30 at night, warm and balmy, and families were everywhere. Into the midst of them trod I and Sofia, her eyes wide and shiny like new silver dollars, moving happily hand-in-hand with Grandpa, through crowds and music and festivities.
We deposited a few coins for a few mild rides on the little cars in front of the Pier casino, and we walked the pier to the edge and looked down at the lights as they played across the breaking waves off the side of the pier.
Finally good sense hit me. Her Mommy would kill me if I didn't get Sofia home soon. Sofia felt my hand leading her away from the fencing. She leaned over the bar one last time, stared at the lighted water, smiled up at me, and we trundled back to the car, still hand in hand. Not finding the moon had been forgotten.
Every time during all the subsequent days of vacation, when we past the pier on our various family outings, Sofia's eyes would widen and she would proclaim: "There's the Pier, Grandpa!"
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
Ten days later, late at night, arriving home from somewhere, I opened the car door, Sofia disembarked, and pointed to the sky. "The moon." And there it was: ten days late, but the moon had appeared in the Los Angeles nighttime sky once again, and I reclaimed my 'moon chaser' reputation.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
We bought Sofia two DVDs during her visit: "Cinderella"; and also "The Wizard of Oz". (Mommy's TV diet had to be modified a bit.)
Watching them, her mind and heart were enraptured in fairytale magic, especially by "The Wizard of Oz". Each time she viewed it, her eyes grew in size like when we went to the pier. They seemed not to blink. They drew in the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, and the Scarecrow, into the deep well of her imagination...and most especially Dorothy and her red shoes. "Follow the Yellow Brick road; Follow the Yellow Brick road..." we sang all week.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
After dinner, after dark, we often played Monster-in-the-room. She and I would go to the big bed, she would turn out all the lights, and I would lay on the bed, quiver and cry, frightened, as she would return to the bed and hold me and tell me not to be afraid.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
"Grandpa, tonight I'll read to you." "Okay," I said. Sofia read to me. Six books, with pages turning and words memorized.
Grammy read to her on the next evening: outside, on the patio, both covered in a blanket, as the pages were illuminated by a solo flashlight. It became an even more focused wonderful mystery of reading.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
The night before Sofia and her her Mommy were scheduled to leave, Grammy and Grandpa seemed unable to leave her room. Goodbyes lingered, and Grandpa had to lie and the bed and get one last long hug. Sofia rolled over on him, and rocked back and forth. "Oh, Grandpa...I love you so much. I'll miss you. You know [she emphasized 'KNOW'] if I didn't have to see my Daddy back in Washington, DC, and my friends Anya, Josie and Nathanial, and get ready for pre-K [pre-kindergarten], I'd stay with you forever." She rocked again and said: "Oh, Grandpa, you've got to let me go." I looked at my daughter standing at the end of the bed. She looked at me. "It's in the genes," she said, a reference to my lifetime as an actor.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
At the airport, she ascended the escalator hand in hand with her beloved Mommy. As they were about to disappear in to anonymity of the security lines, she turned and waved one last time. The lady next to me said: "Is that your Granddaughter?"
"Yes," I said. "She's so beautiful." "Yes," I sighed.
THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART
How does one fill a hole that has gotten so large in so short a time?
With the same material that created the hole in the first place: Memories. God's greatest gift (and curse) to humankind.
posted by Cliff Osmond at 5:13 PM
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