Please enjoy Part Three of FIRST LOVE.****
Bang bang Maxwell's silver hammer came down upon her head... bang bang Maxwell's silver hammer made sure she was dead
SUBJECT epiphany of love
A June Wednesday found Keegan working at Avon when his boss arrived, though a bit odd, he did that occasionally. Keegan needed to go to the hospital, his grandmother. The extent of his pain was both profound and intense. His grandmother was his only family left; his parents had passed years earlier.
At the hospital, he found her, after the obvious greetings and what's the problem discussion, he sat by her and with a voice laced with pity, in retrospect an inappropriate emotion, he stated, "I feel so sorry for you Grammie."
She knew, he knew, that she was about to die. Boldly she stared, the way she had done before, in a scolding manner and stated with great power and strength, "Don't feel sorry for me. I will be with the one I love. I am blessed that I have love."
Grammie died. It left Keegan with an empty place that would never quite be filled. Yes, he would accept, the grieving would lessen, and life inevitably would bring back joy, but the hole would remain in that distant yet tender way.
It took Keegan weeks to gather the strength to attend to her affairs, preparing her house for sale. He discovered a beautiful satin lined round hat box closed with a meticulously tied violet ribbon, opening and discovering letters. His first thought was selfish, for him, and he winced at the thought of being so vain.
Stacked with apparent painstaking precision was a pile of yellowing letters all addressed to Grammie in a neat, manly scrawl. He didn't recognize the penmanship nor the address, but he had an intuitive feeling who was the author. He looked at Grammie's dresser, at a framed picture of a young, grinning, uniformed man with the same small cowlick as Keegan.
Not deliberately sitting on the bed, more so, he simply dropped as if the strength deserted his knees. He lifted the pack out, noted they were in chronological order, took the first one and opened it, feeling like a trespasser but wanting to touch that part of Grammie, that part of the grandfather he never knew.
He began reading. Words and phrases flowed out from amongst the midst. My Darling... My love... You have my heart. I will love you forever. You are my life. I miss you so greatly. And again, often, littering the page those endless endearments... dearest... sweetheart... honey. Teary, he finally put them back just the way he had found them, tying the bow neatly, knowing the letters would be stored with him forever. They would follow him forever just like his grandfather’s love followed his grandmother.
He got it. Understood it. His grandfather had died over fifty years ago but their love never did.
"Love is forever," he said aloud. "Forever."
TO BE CONTINUED
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