And then the 3 of them walked in.
He had a bright pink reusable shopping bag with something very square in it. With Christmas just passed, I figured it was a final holiday gift. I was curious what the little girl was getting and if she'd like it. He started to slide the bag down. I expected to see bright paper and maybe some ribbons.
It was dark.
A wooden box.
And I heard him tell her he'd made it. It had taken him two weeks.
ahaaaa. A jewelery box for his granddaughter.
But it wasn't.
it was so much more
He lovingly pulled items out to show her. Explaining about each one to her.
A bronze shoe. A small bible. Several other mementos.
Photos of the original owners of these small treasures that were priceless but had no real value.
He told her about each item. About the person, many obviously this little girl had never, would never meet, that had contributed them to this treasure box. And their connection to her.
She listened attentively.
And lovingly helped him return each item to it's place in the treasure box.
I feel so very privileged to have witnessed the sharing of someone's history with them. To hear what I could, and have Mel tell me what he saw and heard since he was facing them. To know that Mel was as affected by the experience as I was.
And I choose to believe the small smile I exchanged with this grandfather as we left was an acknowledgment of how special and precious the moment was.