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| Arnold W "Pat" Marsh |
I’m strolling around the fishing pond at one of my favorite
parks on a lovely Autumn day, enjoying the turning leaves and sounds of water; watching
the ducks and geese paddling around and dark green-gray turtles catching the
last of the sunny days before they go into winter hibernation. My thoughts wander to my grandfather, who grew up in the Pennsylvania
back-country and was an avid fisherman who loved to be
outdoors.
For a child who grew up
without a permanent home (my dad was in the Navy and we moved a lot, so
never put down roots anywhere), my grandparents' homes were one of the few
constants in my life. All of my grandparents were wonderful people - very different - but wonderful! One of the things we did with Grandad Marsh was go fishing. He delighted in taking us kids fishing - though I know we were quite a handful – 4 excited
kids in and out of the boat and up and down the banks; tangling lines, squealing and giggling while
baiting hooks with worms and crawdads. And Grandad indulgently watching, untangling our lines, keeping an eye on our bobbers,
and helping us reel them in. He would beam with pride when we
actually caught something (though with all that noise and motion I’m surprised
we ever did), and afterwards, we'd all troop home to clean and fillet the fish in the garage sink before turning them over to Grandma for the most delicious fish
fries I have ever had. They loved their grandkids, and I think Grandad got more joy when we caught something than anything
he ever caught himself!
So I’m walking around the pond and thinking “he’d love this
place, the kids, the leaves, just being out. . .I wish he was here.” And then suddenly, he is! He lightly places his left hand on my right
shoulder – just like he did when we’d walk together long ago - and I can feel
him beside me, just beyond the veil that separates the worlds of the living from
that of the dead. Do you know how it is
when you look over your shoulder and almost see someone? Just a flash, or a faded image – but you KNOW
something – a person – is there? That was
how it was with him, and as I turned I said, “Come walk with me, Grandad! Isn’t it a beautiful day?” “It
sure is, Sweetie. Let’s go!”
And for a turn around the pond, we walk and talk
together about everything and nothing. Where
the best places to fish are, and what he thinks he’d catch in this pond. Him laughing
and saying, “You might not catch much here; those banks are low and there’s
not much roots and tree coverage for them to hide under.” “But do you remember how we used to fish from
his little rowboat, or along the banks of “Neshaminy Crick?” (a wide but
shallow creek in Pennsylvania behind the house where he spent most of his adult
life). I tell him yes, and we reminisce. I share what I’ve been up to,
and how much I’ve missed him, and he says how he’s missed me, but everything’s
fine. “How are those young rascals
anyway?” (my kids) “All grown up now,
Grandad – and I’m a Grandma now too!” “Really? I can’t believe it’s been so long!” He smiles and his blue eyes seem to tear up just a
little – I know he wishes he could see them now, all grown up, and my son with
a child of his own.
When we finish our trek around the pond, I turn to him and
say “Well, Grandad – I’ve gotta go fix dinner – do you want to come? I’m fixing shepherd’s pie!” And he laughs and says, “I love shepherd’s
pie. Haven’t had that in years! I’ll be there!”
That night I hosted a “dead supper,” and he was the honored guest. A “dead supper” (often called a “dumb supper”)
is an old Irish and British tradition held around Samhain (Halloween / All
Hallows Eve) to remember the ancestors. A
place is set for a departed loved one, and food and drink that they would like is
offered in their memory. Traditionally, the
meal is eaten in silence, but Grandad always loved company, listening to
conversation, laughing and making little jokes, and complimenting the chef (and
of course, finishing up the leftovers) so I knew he wouldn’t want to eat in
silence! I set a place of honor for him at the table
and place his picture near his plate. I served
him a little food and beer, and introduced him to my husband and nephew (who
never met him in life) and told them who he was and what he meant to me. And as we ate, I asked them to share their memories
of lost loved ones too. They do, and
there is talk, laughter, and perhaps a few tears, as we remember those who are
no longer with us in body.
As I clear the table, I tell Grandad I love him and say
goodbye, and he fades away beyond the veil.
But he and all of the beloved dead will always be in my heart, where I
carry all of my ancestors. Those who
came before are who make us who we are, and I am filled with love and gratitude
for the gifts of knowing them, and carrying on their legacy!
Blessed be the ancestors and the legacy the left us!
