Magic

“If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it.” Grandpa would always start my favorite game with these words.  The game was best played as we sat at the table waiting for grandma to follow the fragrant swirls of roast beef and apple pie escaping her kitchen. Unfortunately, the mystery in his pocket was always too magical and my young imagination could not conjure up the possibilities of what  might be hiding within.



My first wrong guess didn’t leave me empty handed.  Grandpa quickly came up with a solution when he pulled the item out of his pocket.  It was a strangely shaped black key with a long neck and a small black ring dangling from the end of it. I was in awe and disappointed at the same time.  “Maddie, since you didn’t guess what was in my pocket, if you can find what this key opens, you can have its contents.”



I couldn’t believe my good luck!  I quickly finished my dinner, jumped down from the table and was on the hunt.  Chrissy, their little white poodle, followed me from room to room as I looked in closets, under  beds and even under grandpa’s old musty chair, but the thing I was looking for alluded me.



As if on cue, grandma sensed my growing frustration and whispered in my ear to look in the oversized chest in front of their bed. My feet couldn’t move fast enough to find my prize.  I found the chest grandma described. Instinctively I ran my little fingers over the wooden canvas of delicate carvings depicting a garden of birds and wild flowers. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was grandma’s hope chest she prepared for her marriage to grandpa many years ago.  All I knew was that my treasure was hidden inside.  I slowly lifted the heavy lid to reveal an array of smaller built in boxes. Some had wooden lids and others had their contents exposed.



I didn’t have to be told the items I was sifting through were important to grandma so I was very careful handling the yellowing fabrics and old pictures until I found the reason for my search.  A glossy, black hexagon shaped box with a keyhole that matched my key. Grandpa and grandma watched with glee as I fumbled a few times fitting the key into the lock before I heard the latch give way.  I found my treasure!  2 chocolate gold coins, a tiny cross on a gold chain and a ribbon of sorts.



My gold cross is safely tucked away in my locked box back at my apartment, but I brought the ribbon with me today, the ribbon grandpa was given after serving bravely in World War II. I point to the board with photos my mom displayed in chronological order of my grandfather’s years on earth.  The precisely placed pictures did not capture the fullness and spontaneity of his life, only his age. I was struggling with wanting to scream he wasn’t just an old man.  For people have a tendency to minimize one’s mourning upon hearing of an elder’s death by asking, “How old were they?”



I need to hold it together because mom pointed out that I was doing this for grandpa and grandma. My anger intensifies as the anguish grips my heart after the pastor ended his customary life-to-death prepared speech, mustering as much sentiment as one could not knowing the deceased.  When he finished his theatrics, he called me up to where I’m standing now, in front of an ominous looking podium and a sprinkling of what’s left of grandpa’s loved ones.



I knew grandpa was with me as I began my eulogy with “If you guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it”  This was just one of the many wonderful memories of my grandpa, Sgt. William Sadowski. My words are shaky now as I feel grief beginning to constrict my throat. I control my panic and with a clear voice that even surprises myself, I continue.  I take the black key out of my pocket and hold it up for my audience. My grandpa’s legacy was about the magic of life.  I look around the room and catch grandma’s eyes.  He did this by teaching me and others to believe that magic will always exist if you take the time to find it.