echoesofangels

The garden still looked the same- the loose old rope swing, the stringy weeds taking over the little flower patch, and the rickety fence with the gate half falling off.
I remember when she would come hobbling out of the house. Her face alight, she would hug my brother Chris, and I. She had a grip of iron for all that she looked so frail.
"My angels," she would say, " my little angels. Something would come over her face then, a longing perhaps. Her husband, my Poppa, was Ronald Earle. I have a vague memory of him from when I was about five:
Poppa took me for a walk by the stream that ran behind their cottage. It was spring and the trees were blooming along the banks. There was a group of about 11 ducklings with their mother, paddling for food. Poppa seemed young then, the next time I saw him, he was old.
When I try to recall his face now, I can only see the wrinkles and the tired eyes. He died 3 months after my 6th birthday. He was a fireman and he gave his life to a young boy trapped on a burning warehouse.
I was always proud to have such a heroic grandfather. Nana thought so too.
We shared a lot, Nana and I.
I miss her already. She had no heroic death, just dropped off peacefully in her sleep. I guess that was the way she wanted it.
Chris lives in America, and even though he's rich, he couldn't make it over for Nana's funeral. I don't know why she left all her belongings to me. Her money went to Dad and Chris, not that there was much, or either of them needed it. She loved us so much. It was easy to tell- inviting us to stay with her every holiday, abundant meals, specially made for us, little surprises, big gifts. I loved her a lot too. Somehow she didn't connect with Chris. Maybe it was because he was male, he was also very practical while me and Nana were dreamers.

I opened the door and some of the peeling paint came off on my hand. I brushed it off as I stepped in. My eyes filled with unshed tears. All the rooms were cluttered with stuff she had left to me.Junk to most people, but treasure to Nana and precious to me. I'm 28 now, with my own little angel daughter, and even if it's a cliche, I know I'll carry her memory in my heart forever.