Day 2

It has been a year. I don’t have many memories of him.

He wasn’t a remarkable man. He wasn’t a hard worker, nor was he a good husband. He wasn’t a loving father or a doting grandfather. He lived his life quietly and alone but he was content in his own way.

I remember waiting for literally hours for him to get ready in the bathroom as a child. He was always tardy but took great care of his appearance. He liked to collect old newspapers in the corner of his living room for reasons unknown to me. Above his favourite spot in his house was a great big yellow stain from the years of cigarette smoke that he emitted. He had a religious routine that he followed every day.  

He gave me a pen that he bought from the dollar store with a colourful yarn once. It was suppose to light up but the batteries were dead before I even opened the package. It was one of the two items he ever gave to me. I still have it.  

I don’t harbour resentment or hatred to this man because I haven’t spent much time with him. He lived miles away from me and back then, it might as well be another world. Perhaps it’s because of this that I still think of him fondly and I dutifully love him with a little part of me.

I wish I knew you better grandfather.

 

End of Wendy-verse report.