Grandpa's Shoes

The twins came running through the garage into the kitchen yesterday.  “Grandma,” they asked in unison, “How can Grandpa be in Heaven if his shoes are still here?” 

Grandpa’s sandals were on the floor by the door in the garage.  I just hadn’t moved them.  I didn’t want to.  They were a comfort to me there – I could see them.  Like the kids, his sandals gave me the same question, “How can he be gone if his shoes are still here?”

So I let them be.

But the question stands.  There is so much of him here.  He hung the pictures – I leveled them.  He kept  the garage neat and his coffee can full of nuts and bolts and wire things is still there.  The maple tree he planted in the back yard still grows leaves every spring and seems healthy.

So where is he?  Why am I sitting here alone now that the kids have left?

Anger wells up inside me.

“Damn it Paul, why did you have to leave?  I’m lonely and I want you here!” 

The clock ticks softly on the mantle and I hear a car go by outside.

And then – a voice – no, more like a breeze comes through my heart.

“I love you.  I’m sorry, sweetheart.  It’s okay.  I’m okay and you will be too.”

I sob and cry out, “I don’t know what this means and I’m afraid, I’m afraid!"

“Have faith, my love.  It’s okay and you will be too.”

And the clock ticks softly on the mantle and a few houses away, a neighbor dog barks a welcome to his master.