reclaimed moment

I loved it when grandpa smiled. He’d lived a life. It was filled with the highs of building a family, to the lows of coping with the aftermath of Vietnam. 

Tonight, our whole family packed up the SUV. A pop-up drive-in theater just opened, and we were eager to check it out, especially grandpa.

Over the years, grandpa told me (many times) that the drive-in was where he took grandma on their first date. They met at a coffee shop in their hometown where grandpa worked as a server. Every time she came in with her friends, he made sure he was their table’s server. Eventually, a phone number was exchanged on a receipt. He claimed he slid her his number, but she told me that she was the one that left her number on the receipt. Either way, it led them to the drive-in.

We lost grandma earlier this summer, and I think, a piece of grandpa too. Sometimes, he still waits for her when we get ready to leave the house.

We pulled into the drive-in and parked the car. Beyond the massive screen, the edges of the sun hovered above the horizon. I caught a glimpse of the warm light cast upon grandpa’s face; his content smile suggested that he was lost in time, absorbed in a reclaimed moment.

-m

July 12, 2020

Photo Credit: David Clode