The Promise of Christmas with Sofia
A week ago I was talking on the phone with my daughter Mishi when suddenly my granddaughter Sofia's wail was heard in the background. Mishi told me she's have to get off the phone.
Two minutes later Mishi called me back to report. Sofia was still crying but being comforted in her Mommy's arms. Mishi explained that Sofia had been playing soccer with her Popi in the living room. She had stood on the ball, and had fallen on her bum. It had hurt. But she was OK.
Mishi said she'd call back later. Sofia's wailing was still vibrating.
Four minutes later a call arrived. The voice was not Mommy's, but Sofia's. Her crying was now reduced to a whimper, but a little girl's sad whisper.
"I just wanted you to know, Grandpa, I'm OK. I was playing soccer with Popi and I stood on the ball and fell. But I'm OK now."
"That must have hurt," I said.
"It did." Then, in hurt finality, abject defeat: "I'm just no good at soccer,"
My heart wrenched. "No," I said. "You just made a mistake. 'Accidents ha-appen; they happen aaaall the tiiime'" I sang.
"Even the very best soccer players make mistakes. And besides, the main thing about soccer playing is not just about being good, but having fun."
A long pause occurred at the other end of the phone. "I miss you, Grandpa" she said.
My heart, which had become shattered and fragmented with seventy years of my life's vicissitudes, became whole again; all the stars in the galaxy aligned, the ever-expanding universe paused in its outward efforts, resting to absorb the moment. Matter and anti matter became one. Peace reigned throughout all existence.
"I miss you, too," I said.
"And soon we will be together," I said. "In one week you, and Mommy and Popi will be in California and we will all celebrate Christmas together. And you and I will go places in the car, just you and I. To the pier, and a pie shop, and toy stores."
"I love you, Grandpa."
"I love you, too." Words never seemed more inadequate; or less necessary.
"Here's Mommy." And she handed the phone to Mishi, her Mommy, my other lovely girl child.
Christmas; can the universe wait?
Two minutes later Mishi called me back to report. Sofia was still crying but being comforted in her Mommy's arms. Mishi explained that Sofia had been playing soccer with her Popi in the living room. She had stood on the ball, and had fallen on her bum. It had hurt. But she was OK.
Mishi said she'd call back later. Sofia's wailing was still vibrating.
Four minutes later a call arrived. The voice was not Mommy's, but Sofia's. Her crying was now reduced to a whimper, but a little girl's sad whisper.
"I just wanted you to know, Grandpa, I'm OK. I was playing soccer with Popi and I stood on the ball and fell. But I'm OK now."
"That must have hurt," I said.
"It did." Then, in hurt finality, abject defeat: "I'm just no good at soccer,"
My heart wrenched. "No," I said. "You just made a mistake. 'Accidents ha-appen; they happen aaaall the tiiime'" I sang.
"Even the very best soccer players make mistakes. And besides, the main thing about soccer playing is not just about being good, but having fun."
A long pause occurred at the other end of the phone. "I miss you, Grandpa" she said.
My heart, which had become shattered and fragmented with seventy years of my life's vicissitudes, became whole again; all the stars in the galaxy aligned, the ever-expanding universe paused in its outward efforts, resting to absorb the moment. Matter and anti matter became one. Peace reigned throughout all existence.
"I miss you, too," I said.
"And soon we will be together," I said. "In one week you, and Mommy and Popi will be in California and we will all celebrate Christmas together. And you and I will go places in the car, just you and I. To the pier, and a pie shop, and toy stores."
"I love you, Grandpa."
"I love you, too." Words never seemed more inadequate; or less necessary.
"Here's Mommy." And she handed the phone to Mishi, her Mommy, my other lovely girl child.
Christmas; can the universe wait?
posted by Cliff Osmond at 6:15 PM
2 Comments:
... the memories that this enchanted little girl ... the memories of YOU, that she will take into adult hood will serve her highest sense of SELF for ever more ...
"Dorothy's Doll"? When I read posts like this, I think of Clyde...and you...God willing...you'll play him...you'd be perfect! And if not, we'll both continue to count our blessings and live "in the moment"! ;-)
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