Not Lost Just Forgotten

“Tell me the story for this one!” Flora exclaimed, turning the page in Grandma’s, “Life Adventures” scrapbook. She had opened up to a picture of Grandma from 40 years ago, she sat cross-legged on a forest floor cushioned by ferns. Nothing but green and brown surrounding her. She sat next to a small fire that had a metal platform perched over it, with an old percolator full of dark “liquid life” as Flora had heard Grandma call it. She was looking off into the distance and wearing the same brown hat that was handed down to Flora when Grandpa had passed away last year.

Grandma glances down at the picture and smiles, “Oh, that adventure was one of my favorites.”

She looks out the window as if the story is out there.. “Your Grandpa surprised me with that one.” She reminisces. Her eyes are misty with sorrow now and Flora is afraid she won’t continue.

“Are you crying Grandma?” Flora asks quietly, hoping the tears forming are not from her.

Grandma sees the guilt on Flora’s face.

“No Flora. These are not tears. This,”She gently lifts a finger to a tear about to plunge off her chin and catches it. “Is the love Grandpa left for me. Sometimes it’s so much, it spills over.”

She holds her finger up to the sunlight shining through the window, “You see?” She asks Flora.

Flora examines the so-called “love”, the sun glistening off it and sees a million tiny rainbows rolling around inside the tiny bubble.

“I do!” Flora answers breathlessly, lost in the beauty of the love. “Grandpa must have left love for all of us because sometimes his love spills out of me too.”

Grandma gently pats her Shirley Temple curls and smiles at the innocence. Flora is still holding the scrapbook as a red cardinal lands on the windowsill and sings as if asking to hear the story.

“He wants to hear it too, Grandma! Please tell us the story!”

Grandma is not sure if she is saying “he” as in the bird, or “he” as in Grandpa, but Grandma knows it is time.

At first it had been hard for Grandma to talk about Grandpa, she refused to talk about him. Said the pain made it all so fresh again and she couldn’t bare the thought of him. Flora thought it was sad that Grandma wanted to lose the memories of Grandpa too but when she had asked her Mother about it, she had said, “Sometimes it’s easier to pretend it never happened,” and that answer had not settled right in Flora’s soul. It was like the ever elusive puzzle piece that just doesn’t fit. No matter how many times you turn it, it doesn’t belong. Flora had tried in vain many times to talk to Grandma about Grandpa in the beginning. At first Flora was met with harsh words, reserved for strangers that had betrayed. But Flora was gently persistent. She carefully calculated the right times to remind Grandma of Grandpa. She had loved him deeply and Flora would not let her forget that.

Today was the one year anniversary of his passing and Flora’s mother had dropped her off at Grandma’s in the morning. When they had pulled up to the long windy driveway there was a red cardinal perched on the mailbox, “Look!” FLora had pointed out the bird and felt that familiar tickle in her belly. The one that feels like hot cocoa on a cold day. The bird had followed them all the way down the driveway. “How strange.” Flora’s mother had commented as it landed on the railing of the porch, singing, welcoming the daughter and granddaughter. Grandma came out and said, “That pesky bird showed up this morning and was rapping on all the windows! I don’t know what the hell is wrong with that thing but it has been driving me nuts all morning! No idea where it came from! Would you just go away?” She asked, shooing it slightly with her hand. He did not move, just chirped a mocking response as if to say, “No, I don’t want to.”

Later that day they had been in Grandma’s sewing room. It was lunch time so Grandma went to make bologna sandwiches for them while Flora finished her painting. She had heard a little chirp and looked up to find the red cardinal on the windowsill. They studied each other, head tilting from one side to the other. Flora, trying to make sense of the sudden smell of wood shavings, just like Grandpa’s work shed. Trying to make sense of the smell of freshly burnt chocolate chip cookies, Grandpa’s favorite. Trying to make sense of the warm hug enveloping her. The bird spread it’s wings and burst into the room. Flora jumped back in surprise. The bird landed on Grandma’s bookshelf where her precious book collection sat. The bird grabbed a book Flora had never seen before, a scrapbook with the title “Life Adventures” and pulled it out so it fell to the floor with a thud and landed open to a photograph of a beautiful woman sitting in a forest. Flora knew it must be Grandma even though she had never seen her with skin so fresh. The bird flew up again, this time to a shelf that held Knick knacks from all over the world and came back with a little glass bottle no bigger than a AA battery which it dropped in Flora's lap, chirping and singing, asking Flora to open it. Very carefully the bird landed on Flora’s hand and lowered it’s beak to the open bottle. Flora watched as a small bubble full of rainbows rolled out of the birds eye down its beak and into the bottle. The bird nudged the rubber stopper on the ground and Flora put it in. The cardinal sang a beautiful song which she recognized instantly as “Lady” by Lionel Richie and then took flight out the window taking the nostalgic smells of woodshavings and burnt chocolate chip cookies with him.

“Grandma? Will it help to tell the story if I give you this?”

Flora holds up the tiny glass bottle with the rubber stopper. It dangles from a piece of twine.

“What is that?” She asks, eyeing the bottle.

The red cardinal flies in the sewing room and lands on Grandma’s shoulder and she does not shoo him away like she had outside. She seems to lighten. To relax. As if the weight of the universe that she had been carrying for the last year has now lifted. The cardinal rubs his head against Grandma’s cheek and she closes her eyes. The smell of wood shavings and burnt chocolate chip cookies in the air is intoxicating.

“It’s Grandpa’s love. He gave it to me.” Flora answers, holding it up for Grandma to inspect the little drop of love inside. The cardinal rubs Grandma’s cheek one more time and takes the smell of wood shavings and burnt chocolate chip cookies with him as he flies out the window.

Grandma watches until the bird is out of sight, “That was the adventure where I knew for sure I loved your Grandpa.” She begins. And Flora watches as the memories; not lost, just forgotten; are remembered and the love spills over.