This river never rests,
It flows through you and me.
We are the clouds above;
We are the deepest sea.
So don’t ever say that it’s too late to cure your lonely heart.
– Benjamin Gibbard
I lost my grandmother less than a year ago. She’d been married to my Grandpa for 64 years. That’s right – sixty four years. They were partners in every sense, and shared a bond no one fully understands. When she passed, everyone’s first thought even before addressing their personal grief was, “What will Papa do now?”
Enter Little Miss E.
This two-year old, daughter of my grandpa’s live-in caregiver, helps restore life to the old man. “Papa”, and later “Ampah” (Grandpa), were two of the first few words she spoke. She runs to hug him every morning (well, she welcomes everyone with a hug – even strangers – such is her charm), and sometimes marches up to his door to demand for him if he’s absent long enough.
Distraction, friendship, solace, entertainment, companionship – Miss E. provides the old man with all. Not to mention exercise, as she constantly pesters him to share his meals, giving him a workout in the process. She is like magic, a balm for his grieving soul.
The photo shows the cute rascal reaching for my phone as I tried to take her picture. I think the resulting image was again purely magical – an effect made more profound when I consider the song lyrics above.
The half face seems to suggest that the childish visage is only part of a larger, whole picture. It’s like my Grandma speaking the essence of those lyrics through the tiny face. Don’t feel sad; I’m still with you. Elements of her endure in the little one. In her openheartedness; in her smile; in her simple and generous heart.