Through the Looking Glass

I saw my grandfather forty years after he died. I loved him with all my heart, not because he gave me toys, bought me ice creams or took me to the Fun Fair, but because he loved me so much. I was only eight years old when he died of a heart attack and I cried myself to sleep. The next day my mother told me that he loved me very especially, so much so that he made special plans for me and so I should always pray for him each day when I said my morning prayers. That’s why I felt so guilty when I saw him again forty years later. The truth of the matter is, I had forgotten to pray for him as often as my mother wanted me to, as often as I should have done. It was Christmas Eve when I saw him. I usually shaved in the morning, but as I was going to midnight Mass I thought I better make myself a little more presentable. I had removed all the shaving cream off my face apart from a white moustache under my nose, about the same size as the white moustache my grandfather always wore, that tickled me when he kissed me. I had never thought I looked like him, but there he was looking at me from the bathroom mirror. Oh yes it was him all right, but he didn’t look as kind or as loving as the man I remembered!           continue reading ....