I've been typing up my grandmother's old journals, and I constantly come across things that make me smile or move me to tears. One that did both-in one of her journals from ten years ago, she mentions that she's trying to write three pages every day. She talks about how good this has been for her, and wonders in her writing if her husband, my late, lovely grandfather might enjoy doing the same.
And then she writes that she'll find a yellow legal pad and sharpen some pencils for him so that he might be able to write too. And my God if that isn't the most beautiful thing I've ever read in my entire life.
I can't think of a better definition of love than without being asked, on just a whim, feeling the need to provide someone a yellow legal pad and a case full of sharpened pencils for their thoughts. If I am half as lucky as my grandma I'll have someone in my life in fifty years who I'll want to do the same for. Or who will do that for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment