Blessed

Blessed

I am blessed,

I see my life before me,

I look at my hands,

They are my father’s hands,

Actually, they are my grandfather’s hands,

Well worn,

“Aged to perfection”,

(As my Grandfather would say),

I tear when I think of that,

Not for time past,

Not that I will be gone someday,

It is for the joy of knowing,

My grandfather,

I ignored him,

Once,

When I was a teenager,

He took my hand in his,

As if to give me a handshake,

He pulled me to himself,

And, said in that beautiful Norwegian accent,

“Get over here”,

And, he hugged me,

I have been a hugger,

Ever since,

Blessed beyond measure,

Truly,

Blessed!

Peter Lowell Paulson

January 11, 2015