His Glasses

Her pin board at work is kept tidy, just like her desk.  A small monthly calendar, hangs to the right of her computer. And to her left, a picture of her grandchildren with a pair of twisted gold metal eye glasses that dangle on the tack,  holding up the picture of three little smiling girls.  “What happened to those glasses?” a co-worker asks.

She wonders the same sometimes..
What was he thinking about that day?
That day she found  him confused, trying to remember who he was
Who he became, and why he couldn’t remember his own daughter’s name.
The day she found him with his glasses and his life tangled up
In the palm of his hands.

“They were my dad’s,” she responds, still staring at them, searching for answers of her own. She wonders what might have happened to the other missing lens and all of his memories, her memories, those memories they had together.

Sometimes, I see her looking at those glasses.. just for a moment or two. These are the glasses her dad wore.  He experienced life wearing these glasses…watching his daughter grow up in these glasses, seeing his grandchildren through these glasses, and capturing many sunsets while out on his daughter’s farm and heartfelt talks on their porch with these glasses. These spectacles hold all of the memories he couldn’t fully remember. And yet, there are so many stories that still remain for the daughter who stares back at them during the course of  her day.

“I suppose  it’s silly to keep these glasses hanging at my desk,” she says out loud, questioning her own reasons for not taking them down. These glasses, once just used by her father as a daily item he wore, have transformed into a sentimental piece of her day.  It reminded  me of the empty perfume bottle my Aunt kept, as the faint scent was that of her Grandmother Isabel and held the same sentiment.  “I think you should keep them up,” I tell her.  I know she has already decided, as she dusts them off, still wondering about that missing lens, and placing the glasses back in their rightful spot.

As the work day ends, she takes one last glance at the glasses, she misses him.  She misses their time together, having coffee in the mornings, picking blueberries in the summer, watching him play with his grandchildren… and his great-grandchildren.  She remembers the sound of his voice, his smile, his laugh, she remembers that day, waiting for the dial-a-ride and holding his hand, telling him that everything will be okay.  The sun was shining bright that day, she let him wear her sunglasses.. that moment always makes her laugh.  She walks out to her car, another day is done.  Opening her car door, a small plastic lens falls out; the “missing lens” is no longer missing.  She smiles once more, knowing although her father is not here, he is looking down on her right now.. without his glasses.

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3 thoughts on “His Glasses

  1. Cindy says:

    My dear friend…When I read this at home, my little dog jumped to see what that noise was..it was me crying like a baby. The gift of writing you have is amazing, you have captured everything over the past year. As I said in my initial message to you; You pay much more attention to my side of the office than I knew.. I am so glad I read it at home. Thank you, and I will share this with my family. It’s a beautful tribute to a great man, my Dad.

    Like

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