Whenever my kids came down with a cold or flu I often noticed an incredible growth spurt followed. It’s more obvious when they are a toddler and subtle as they age.
When my parents died I realized that I’ll never hear their voice again. That was the hardest thing that bothered me. Not hearing my mom sing or my dad laugh.
A friend of mine posted earlier this week about his mom who passed away when her grandchildren were young and how they missed out on her love. He was right… they never had a chance to make memories with their Gramma. They did have her love and guidance through a Guardian Angel and sometimes that’s just as good.
My Grampa John Zoellner died when I was four. My memories of him are faint. Most of the memories that I have are hearsay… stories that my Mom, my Gramma and my Aunties would tell.
My Grampa came from a German family that owned a bakery. His parents came to Southern Indiana from Germany settling in a town between Indianapolis and Cincinnati.
John Zoellner lost several fingers in a mixer at a young age making bread in the bakery. It never stopped him. In the 1950’s Eisenhower stopped in Indianapolis on his birthday. My Grampa baked him a cake. The article from the “Indianapolis News” was framed at my Gramma’s house with the picture of my Grampa finishing Ike’s cake.
Just recently I was praying to my mom and she prayed back, “Honey, you never have prayed to my dad. All these years that he’s been up here. You’ve kind of blown him off.”
Boy, that Catholic guilt built up immediately. My mom can still lay it thick from heaven. It was at that moment that I realized John Zoellner has been guiding me out of danger since I was a little boy.
I’ve done some stupid things in my life that I made through unscathed. Memories of those incidents flashed through my morning prayers with my mom and suddenly I saw my Grampa. It hit me
Like a ton of bricks, “Holy Shit Grampa! You are the reason I’m not dead or in prison…”
My Grampa was always with me. He was there when I was playing on the railroad tracks. He was there when I got to second base for the first time. He was there when I drove and should have left the keys on the bar. He was there the first time I saw my children at birth.
The older I get the more things happen that define the mystery of my faith. Maybe they happened when I was younger and I was too big of an idiot to notice, but the closer I get to becoming a Guardian Angel myself, the more signs from above appear.
Blessings occur on bad days just like they do on the good days. You can’t enjoy the good days without feeling the sting from the bad ones.
Though I can’t hear my dad’s voice echoing… I can feel it within me.
“You got to be shitting me son? Count your G D blessings!”
The gales of November are upon us. The hats and gloves are out of storage. The long underwear will be next. Maybe a couple chicken breast in the crockpot? Maybe bake a cake for George and tell him the story about his Great Grampa baking a cake for the President of the United States?
