A Royal Line
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
In which thoughts are thought and research done and preparations made for a weekend of remembering…
After Collette received the news…
Somehow she felt the need to trace the Snicketts family line back to 1620’s Virginia and from there to 700’s Wales, where she discovered that, by the Prince of Wales, Mom and Dad were 34th cousins, twice removed, or something ridiculous like that. And from there, into the 300’s and other related family circles. It was sprawling.
Grandpa — a line of royalty after all.
He had passed in his sleep, and at 83 he had lived up till the end still dressed like a gentleman, socializing with his fellow residents, singing tunes from the good old days, and sending out big smiles whenever Dad brought Puck for a visit.
By Tuesday night, it had been a long enough day.
Collette’s eyes were dry and blood-shot from too much research. Puck had asked his signature 437 questions of the day. Hot bread baked = toast and jam for an ever-starving Puck… who also volunteered to mop the floors…
“Keep the beat.”
Boom.
“Keep the beat.”
Boom.
And during Quiet Hour…
“Is it time to come out for a wonderful evening, my girl?” he asked sweetly.
Another slew of papers needed for the 18-month adoption update.
And Collette felt a little beat by seven o’clock.
As Wednesday arrived, she was glad for one more day of peace before everything began.
Grandpa’s visitation and funeral were to begin at ten o’clock on Friday morning at Manchester United Methodist Church.
At 10:40, the library called to say that Puck had won two tickets to a Cardinal’s game. His eyes grew big in hope when Collette mentioned the possibility of finding a giant Gus’ Pretzel for him when he attended the game later in the month with his dad.
While Collette trekked her walk around the house that afternoon, Puck did make-believe.
“I realized there was lava in my room and I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he explained, trapping the hall with the piano bench.
“Well, that’s OK, because it hurts my knees to walk up and down that short hall too much,” Collette replied.
“Remember the special power God gave me a long time ago to make your knees not hurt?” Puck said, casting a hand in her direction. “Schwoo! Schwoo! Only I know the door to your leg. You do not.”
As she passed again, he handed her a thick violet rubber band.
“It’s candy,” he explained. “I made it specially for you because I loved you. It’s not too much sugar.”
Later, when Puck thought that his mama had plans to use his precious rice bread on a burger instead of his Little Bear-worthy jam and toast…
“That wasn’t a brilliant idea, Mama.”
Finally, at seven o’clock, the heatwave had broken.
And, hallelujah, rain was coming again.