The “calling card”
My brother, Dave, was always close to our grandmother. Both of them
shared an endless love of Mother Nature and of food that they had grown
themselves together on a small plot of orchard behind her house. Whenever
his schedule permitted, he would drop in for a short visit and a cup of coffee.
One day, when he found no one home, he left a chunk of dirt on her porch.
This started what was later to be known as his “calling card.” Grandmother
would come home occasionally and instantly know that Dave had been by
when she spotted the chunk of dirt on her porch.
Although my Grandmother had a hard childhood and a poor upbringing in
Italy, she managed to do well in the United States. She was always healthy
and independent and knew how to enjoy a fulfilling life. Recently, she had a
stroke and died. Everyone was so much saddened by her death. To Dave, he
was disconsolate. His life-long friend was now gone.
At her funeral, Dave and I were among the grandsons who were pall-bearers.
At the cemetery, we were instructed by the funeral director to place our
white gloves and the carnation we wore during the ceremony on our
grandmother’s casket. Then, one by one, each grandson came and paid his
final respects. Dave went before me and as he walked over to her casket, I
saw him quickly lean over to pick up something. I couldn’t see what it was,
so I didn’t pay too much attention to it. As I went to place my gloves and
carnation next to Dave’s, tears suddenly filled my eyes as I focused on the
chunk of dirt that lay there, on top of my grandmother’s casket. He had left
his “calling card” to his beloved grandmother for the final time.
- Steve Kendall
Absence, like death, sets a seal on the image of those we have loved.
- Goldsmith
