HEROS

My grandfather Joe was my hero.

The year was 1963 in Liverpool England, my mother 20 years old and un-wed living way from home. When she got up the nerve to call my grandfather to break the news, he simply said "come home".

Then with the authority in his voice I sometimes remember hearing him use, he issued a warning to the rest of the family, " they were not to ask any qestions" they heeded his warning.

I called him "Sada" the jewish name for grandfather.
He was the one man in my life as a young girl who loved me completely, unconditionaly.
If any of you read my bed time story I took bits and pieces of my life some truth, some wishful thinking ..anyway, it was my grandfather not my father, who ran to the hospital the day I was born without any shoes.

When I heard what he had done I was moved beyond words that his excitement was so great and he loved me so much.
When I was about 8 years old I would dance for him, he clapped and cheered as if I were a huge star, he called me his little Sherila.

My grandfather loved to as he would say, " bet on the horsies". Every Saturday morning he would sit me on his knee, instruct me to close my eyes, circle my finger over the news paper, and pick the winning horse.
Each time when he arrived home coincidently my horse had always won. He would give me the pocket change and tell me how smart I was for picking the winner.

It was many years after his death while re-telling the story it occured to me, maybe my horses were not always the winner, I felt a lump for in my throast and a wave of love wash over me.

My childhood was difficult, when I felt sad I would climb up on my grandfathers knee, he would hold me close and whisper " you wont always be a little girl Sherila, one day you will be a woman and have a wonderful life".
I believed him.


I was twelve years old when he died, he suffered a major heart attack.
My family had moved far away I did not get to say good bye.
I remember thinking he must have missed me so much that he died of a broken heart.
My grandfather shoes were very big, I spent the next 30 years of my life trying to find another man to fill them, I could not find a one.

So here is you you my my Sada, my grandfather, my hero.
For your love for me will continue to flow through my veins until my last breath.

Morning

What morning means to me is a chance to catch my breath. It is the only part of my day that is quiet and my mind is sharp. No distractions, no stressful events that have squelched my creativity.

I love to lay awake at the wee hours of the morning and think about my life. My triumphs and mistakes and how I may learn from the day before.

I think of the books I would love to write how I need to improve my grammar. I think of the places I would love to visit, of the people I would love to see.

I think of my sons now grown, and wish I had the knowledge I have now when they were young. I find solice in the fact that today is another opportunity.

I think of my beautiful daughters and quietly, even when they do not know I am awake, I think of the things that they love and I dream with them.
I think of my husband and how patient he is with me and my friends who are always there when I need them. I think that in spite of all the things I will find in this day to whine about , how truly blessed I am.

Just as I begin to engage the fantasy of the wonderful things I would like to do for myself , read, write, take a walk, I hear the sqeak of my 4 year olds bedroom door and the shuffle of her feet making her way down the hall toward my room. Then the sound of her breath, silently begging at the edge of my bed, waiting for me to reply "get in" the morning is behind me, my day has begun.