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The Park Bench(Excerpt)
Author: Barbara Davey
Throughout his life, my beloved Grandpa seemed to defy the conventions of the aging process. Hale, hearty, robust and quick-witted, he was my confidant, my mentor, and most importantly, my best friend well into his nineties.Then, less than five minutes after I had talked to him on the telephone, he died suddenly from a cerebral hemorrhage, leaving me with a hole through my heart, soul and spirit.
I was his first granddaughter, but Grandpa was not one to spoil me. Nevertheless, I did always feel special with him. His eloquent manner of speaking and magnificent carriage attracted attention in every venue. Whether we were in a restaurant, a supermarket line, or a doctor's office, people gravitated toward him, and I loved being at his side. He lived by the Serenity Prayer, accepting what could not be changed, while bravely trying to improve what could. Even as a young child, I always sensed he heeded a Higher Power. His example was his greatest gift to me.
In the weeks that followed his death, I lived a numb existence. To physically escape the mental anguish, I started walking. For months, my only objective was to exhaust myself physically by day, to ensure my nights would be given over to sleep. Soon, my walking pattern became routine. I strolled a few miles to our neighborhood park, then rested briefly on a bench overlooking a duck pond. An elderly man sat on an identical bench on the opposite side. Neither of us ever spoke to the other, but I sensed we were both seeking a similar peace in the silence.
Months passed, and eventually these excursions began to quiet my heart. I felt a change happening. The old man smoked a pipe and the tobacco reminded me of a time long ago when my grandfather used to smoke one, too. Perhaps the aroma triggered something, but I was transported back to a happier time. I remembered myself as a child reading the Sunday comics with Grandpa, playing with wooden blocks, and telling stories while eating canned fruit.Throughout the next few months, other images flooded my memory. School graduations, holiday celebrations, birthdays and summer vacations from long ago were relived while sitting on that park bench. Again, neither I nor that old man ever spoke, but somehow I knew my gradual healing was related to that time on our identical benches.
From that day forward, while I continued to miss my grandfather deeply, my heart was not so heavy. I could even smile when I remembered his perfect diction, erect posture, and witty sayings. I continued my walks to the park, but I never saw the old man again. One day, I asked the park rangers if they had seen him. The three men looked at each other, and then at me. Finally, one of them said, "We're not sure what you mean, Miss. The three of us have watched you sit on that same park bench every day for nearly a year. But you have always been alone. We never once saw an old man here."
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Rebecca Lin 2011 Winter In USA
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