Snowfall
by Ian Curtress
They say I was five years
old when Grandmother gave it to me to play with
when visiting. Grandma had taken it from her desk
and gave it me on the rug.
It was magic. Nice and round and when I moved it
about beautiful snow floated around I have made
the snowfall on every visit since then. Almost a
ritual. Thirty two years!
The last time I visited she said please keep the
snowball in the family, never part with it. She
had a far away look in her eyes and I wondered if
she knew she was failing
Grandma passed away two months ago. I have the
“snowball” but the snow doesn’t
appear anymore. I have rolled it shaken it, even
talked to it but it remains still and perfectly
clear.
I was emptying an old box from her attic. Just
old newspapers and magazines which were
interesting and I found myself reading some. I
realised they had a value and should be handled
with care and kept.
When I reached what I thought was the box bottom
I touched a cloth of some sort.
It disintegrated in my fingers but revealed a
picture in a lovely carved wooden frame.
I wiped the dust off carefully and I was looking
at a portrait of my very young Grandmother and
with her was a handsome young man in uniform.
Not my Grandfather!
As I lifted it out I realised something was taped
to the back. A letter. I felt compelled to read
it out loud
My Darling Elizebeth
This will be my last letter for sometime as I
think we are approaching the “Big Day”
There’s not enough time to look into those
eyes and read the whole story.
A story of a love not of this world. A world
where all is honest, innocent and not diluted by
convention. Love as we were gifted. If we were to
be honest, say what we know is true. If only to
ourselves a new life would open up and the mist
of imitation be washed from our eyes.
There’s not enough time to feel the warmth
of a smile so intoxicating it throws you off
balance and yet grips you in rays of pure
affection. Where, whilst in those rays, you are
as one, suspended between a Blue Sky and Sea in
an Angels gossamer hammock.
There’s not enough time to hear a voice
which calls your name. A voice whose dulcet
chords played on ethereal harps keep rhythm with
your joyful heartbeat
One can but dream of having time to be embalmed
with these virtues, but that is not my destiny.
I have been blessed only to have the curtain
slightly raised and view what might have been……if
it had been the right time…..
What a heartwarming ending it would be to know
the time of ones passing. Where there would be
time to speak the unsaid words to those you love.
To smile a smile which says it all. To reaffirm
your everlasting commitment which will live on To
join at last that which was intended.
If the worst happens we can but hope to meet in
another place.
When you are sad Elizabeth, think of the
wonderful weeks we enjoyed. The laughter, the
plans we made, the memories. Shake our snowfall,
I will hear and be with you in spirit
To say I Love You is not enough. You will
understand Goodbye my Sweetheart until the end of
time.
Your beloved Frederick xxx
I couldn’t wait to get to the “snowball”.
Almost dropping it in my haste, I shook it very
gently. I felt like an intruder as I watched with
misty eyes …….
The brightest snowfall I had ever seen.
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