"A Grandma's Love"

I decided to put this story I wrote on my blog. It was published in a book called, "Relationships And Other Stuff." Hope you enjoy:

Standing guard upon the top of my old blue pie cabinet is a pair of chickens. Front and center, surrounded by an array of antique kitchen gadgets, they have quietly watched over my kitchen for a number of years now. A rooster and his hen nestle together in faded reds, greens and yellows.
My grandma gave them to me before she passed on. It was a hand-selected gift. Not from a fancy department store, but rather from the top of her refrigerator in her own kitchen. I accepted them with great humbleness as she told me how Grandpa had given them to her on one of their earliest anniversaries.
After my Grandpa’s death, many of the family members squabbled over Grandpa’s cherished items. It hurt Grandma greatly. So, she took it upon her self to hand out her own gifts before she, herself, died. She wanted to make sure each of us had something precious to remember her by.
I knew that each item meant something special to her, and that each represented memories she had that were attached to the item itself. So, when she handed me the rooster and hen, I searched her face for answers. I could not recall any particular moment with them. I knew they were a constant in the Schwilke household. Every family get- together that I could remember, the rooster and hen had presided over all.
She smiled, and then gently turned the rooster in the light, and there I could see small lines appearing at the base of the tail, wrapping around to the other side. Cracks. Faint as they were, they were there. It had been broken and glued back together.
“Your Grandpa fixed them,” she said simply. And I knew in my heart that I had been the culprit of the rooster losing his tail. I had broken it. She handed the hen to me.
I examined the hen, and could see that she too, had been broken--- more than the rooster had, for there were actual chips missing along the base of her head. Poor hen, I must have broken her entire head off. I couldn’t remember doing it, but I had.
Tears filled my eyes as I thought of Grandpa, painstakingly gluing this treasure back together. I don’t recall being spanked for the crime, or even hollered at. It was out of pure love for his wife that my Grandpa repaired this precious gift, a memento of their cherished day.
They had the best kind of love. Unconditional love. Through the years, when my grandma slowly gained weight, he used to say with a wink, “I don’t mind at all, it keeps all the other men away from my beautiful bride.” He always had a twinkle in his eye just for her. He often patted her backside, and she would giggle and say, “Oh, Harold!” and then she would go on singing the words to an old song, Beautiful Dreamer. I can still hear her singing or whistling that tune and smell the venison steaks sizzling in the frying pan.
As I stood with Grandma that day, I realized how deeply she loved me. Even though I had broken something very precious to her, she didn’t hold any anger towards me, and neither had Grandpa. They had continued loving me unconditionally, their clumsy granddaughter, as I grew into adulthood. She held me tight to her bosom after giving me her gifts, a long cherished hug told me of her love for me. It was to be the last hug she shared with me. My grandma passed away not long after.
Even now, after many years passed, the lesson keeps coming back to me. The proud rooster and his hen stand as a lesson in love. They remain a testament of the unconditional love that we all must have for each other. No earthly possession is so valuable that if broken accidentally by tiny hands should cause that love to waver.
I do not have any grandchildren yet, but hope someday I will. The rooster and the hen will make sure that I am reminded of how to love my little ones unconditionally. If tiny hands accidentally break them, I will remember my Grandma, and not be angry. A little glue and they will be as good as new. Ready to stand guard over the next generation: a Grandma’s gift of unconditional love.