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The Sun Catcher

M. E. Murray

    Grampa Oliver Slater always told me that if he didn’t move, he was going to stiffen up. That’s why we went for a daily stroll in the dog park near our home. I was a scrawny five-year old, so I had to take several steps to keep up with him. Tall, slim, and seventy years young, Grampa did several laps around the dog park. When Grampa decided he’d had enough exercise, we sat on a wooden bench to cool down, chat, and watch the dogs play with each other and their owners. I especially liked Spike, a German shepherd who got along with everybody, human or animal.
    There were four benches in the park, and Grampa always chose a bench facing west. Tree branches hovered over us, but they didn’t provide shade at that time of day. Peering behind the trees, the sun glowed brightly. It illuminated and warmed us as it descended. The heat didn’t bother me. (I don’t know how Grampa felt. He never complained.)
    Squinting, Grampa commented, “You know, Eddie, we can catch the sun.”
    “Grampa, we can’t catch the sun,” I said mystified.
    “Of course, we can,” he affirmed. He quickly curled his large, muscular, long-fingered hand into a fist and held it in front of my eyes, blocking the sun from my view.
    “Eddie, can you see the sun now?”
    I chuckled, “No, Grampa. Your hand is in the way.”
    He opened his hand. “Eddie, the sun was in my hand momentarily. That’s why you couldn’t see it, but now you can because I released it.”
    I giggled. “Grampa, you’re being silly. You just kept me from seeing the sun. You didn’t catch it.”
    The sun now hid behind a copse of trees. “I can’t catch the sun, but the suncatcher can,” Grampa stated.
    Sun catcher was a word that didn’t exist in my vocabulary. The image of a baseball catcher settled in my brain. I visualized the catcher’s mitts catching on fire as he caught the sun. With extreme curiosity, I commented, “The suuun catcher?” Then, because I assumed Grampa was talking about a person, I asked, “Who’s that?”
    Grampa understood my question and responded, “Eddie, the suncatcher isn’t a person. It is an object that has the ability to catch the sun,”
    “Really? If there is something that catches the sun, I’d like to see it.”
    Grampa’s watch timer beeped. Glancing at his watch, Grampa remarked, “It’s time to go home, Eddie. Alice will be upset at me if I keep you out too long.”
    Holding hands, we headed to his pickup. I skipped; he sauntered. “Grampa, I still don’t understand what a sun catcher is,” I commented as we sat in his truck.
    “Don’t worry, Eddie. You will soon know. I will show you one, and we can also make one,” Grampa replied.
    I looked at him quizzically. “I’d like to see a sun catcher, right away.”
    He smiled. “I’m afraid that won’t happen today. Alice is planning supper for us, and all of my equipment is at my house. You won’t get to see the shop until tomorrow. When your mother goes to her quilting club, we’ll go to my house and make a suncatcher.”
    As we headed home, I was excited. Tomorrow was going to be a fun day. I would get to know what a sun catcher was, and how to make one. Cool, I thought eagerly.
    When we got home, Mom was in the kitchen working on supper. As usual, she asked us where we’d been.
    With that special gleam in his blue eyes, Grampa responded, “We were at the dog park. It’s always fun to pat the dogs and play with them. Besides, Eddie gets to make new friends.”
    After hugging us, Mom said, “It’ll be a while before supper’s ready.”
    “What are we having?” I asked. And it better not be fish, I thought. Anything that came from a river or the ocean wasn’t included in my list of favorite meals.
    “Salad and spaghetti with meatballs,” Mom responded.
    “Oh boy! That’s my favorite!” I shouted enthusiastically.
    Smiling, Grampa said, “Mine too. I’m staying for dinner if that’s okay with you, Alice.”
    “It’s more than okay, Dad,” Mom said. “I just hope that dinner turns out all right.”
    “It will,” Grampa stated confidently. “Is there anything that I can help you with?”
    “Thanks, but I’ve got it under control.”
    Grampa nodded then said, “Alice, is it okay if I turn on the TV? I’d like to watch the evening news.”
    “Go ahead, Dad.”
    Grampa sat on the sofa and placed his legs on the foot rest. The news had started when he unexpectedly asked, “Alice, is it okay if I show Eddie my workshop, tomorrow?”
    “Just as long as you make sure he doesn’t cut himself.”
    “Don’t worry. I’m doing all the cutting.”
    “In that case, it’s okay.”
    Grampa had his own house, but Mom’s comment about my cutting myself irritated me. Nevertheless, her remark was basically true. I was a curious kid, and that attribute almost always got me in trouble. That’s why Grampa had to watch me carefully when he babysat me; however, I didn’t think I needed babysitting. Still, spending time with him was always fun. I stretched on the sofa and put my head on his lap, thinking about tomorrow. I was going to make a sun catcher, even though I didn’t know what it was.
    In the morning, Mom didn’t wear her business clothes. She wore slacks and a T-shirt emblazoned with the images of a cat and a dog, although we didn’t have either one. Mom liked animals, but she always said that having a pet was a tremendous responsibility. Because her job kept her busy, we couldn’t have a cat or a puppy until I got older so I could help her take care of it. Mom worked as a business administrator at some company. I had no clue what a business administrator did, but it must’ve taken a lot of her time. Maybe that’s why Mom had cut her long golden hair short, like a boy’s, so she wouldn’t have to spend time taking care of it. This hair style made her face appear slightly round which made her look like she was always smiling. I didn’t object. Her smile was always nice to behold.
    My hair was cut as short as hers. Come to think of it, we always went together to the beauty shop. I was a bit embarrassed because it was a beauty shop for women, but they treated me well and even gave me candy. When we left I always felt that Mom and I looked like twins, a short one and a tall one.
    In the morning, Mom hurriedly prepared breakfast for us. She had yogurt and a cup of coffee. Grampa had a plate of scrambled eggs, a slice of ham, toast, and coffee. I had a bowl of granola drowned in milk, plus a glass of orange juice. Having finished her breakfast, Mom hugged and kissed us before racing to her quilting club.
    Meanwhile, I tried to consume my granola quickly because I was anxious to see the workshop. “Eat slowly, Eddie,” Grampa recommended. “We have all day to work on the suncatcher.”
    In spite of his advice, I gobbled my food like a person who’d been marooned on an island and hadn’t eaten in several weeks. Chewing granola rapidly was difficult; nevertheless, Grampa and I finished eating at about the same time. He took his plate and coffee cup to the sink, and came back for my bowl, spoon, and glass. He rinsed our dishes, put them in the dishwasher, and then checked the kitchen to make sure we hadn’t left a mess. Finished with the inspection, he said, “Eddie, it’s time to head to the shed.”
    I didn’t need to be told twice. Like pellets blown from a shotgun, I sprinted out of the house to Grampa’s truck. He unlocked it so I could climb inside, and then locked the front door to Mom’s house. It took about ten minutes to get to Grampa’s house. He unlocked the front door, and I followed him to the back door which he unlocked to get to the backyard. My brown eyes jubilantly beheld the shed which was twice the size of Mom’s double-door garage. Grampa unlocked the shed’s door and opened it. As we ambled inside, I thought I was in a craft store.
    Grampa started the tour of his workshop. He had a large storage cabinet with labeled drawers that had all sorts of neatly-arranged glass cutting tools. I had a lot of fun ogling the equipment. He also showed me shelves that contained squares of glass that came in various sizes and colors. In the middle of the room was a large, rectangular table that didn’t have much on it. At home, if Mom had this type of table, it would’ve been covered with mail, magazines, and other stuff. I was amazed. Unlike Mom, Grampa was so organized.
    From a closet, Grampa pulled out a large flat box that reminded me of a large pizza box. On its cover the words “parrot suncatcher” appeared. I gazed at him and the box with enlarged eyes. I didn’t recognize the words, so I asked Grampa for an explanation because I’d assumed suncatcher was two words and a person.
    Grampa explained. “I’ve had this box for a long time. It contains all the things needed to make a parrot suncatcher.” He paused. “Eddie, do you want to help me make it?”
    “Of course,” I said excitedly, although I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. He put the box on a workbench and opened it. “Back when I was a kid, suncatchers came as kits which contained a specific design, such as a rabbit or a flower frame, and small bags filled with tiny plastic beads. Each bag contained beads of one color,” Grampa stated. “Depending on the kit you chose, the beads could be green, pink, black, orange, blue, red, and white. I chose a kit to make a parrot. I was going to color its feathers red, blue, yellow, orange, and green.”
    “Making a suncatcher sounds complicated,” I commented.
    “It’s not difficult to make one. The procedure is very simple.” he declared, heading to the kitchen. “First, we have to preheat the oven.” He turned on the oven, pulled out a cookie sheet and put the parrot frame, which was about 5 inches long, on it. “How about I do one color and you do the next,” Grampa suggested.
    I eagerly watched as Grampa carefully filled a wing with red beads. Finished, he said, “Okay, Eddie, it’s your turn.”
    I grabbed a yellow bag to fill the beak, but I wasn’t as experienced as Grampa, and a few beads rolled out of that space. “Oh, no! I messed up!”
    “Don’t worry, Eddie. That can be easily fixed.”
    Grampa grabbed the beads that fell out with a pair of tweezers and put them in the spot I was filling. “See. That wasn’t so bad. Was it?”
    “No. But now it’s your turn, Grampa.”
    Grampa took a bag and filled the next space with beads. We continued filling the parrot frame with beads of various colors. When we finished, Grampa carefully put the sheet in the preheated oven and set a timer. (I don’t recall for how long.) What I do remember is that when the timer rang, Grampa took the sheet out and set it on a trivet on a countertop to cool.
    I wasn’t a very patient kid, but what can you expect from a five-year old? I wanted to pick up the parrot to examine it. “Grampa, do you think it’s cold enough to handle?” I asked timidly.
    “Let me see.” Grampa cautiously touched the edge of the figure. “It’s a bit warm. We should wait at least five minutes.”
    When it cooled sufficiently, Grampa picked it up, and handed it to me. I checked it out. The parrot frame held all the melted colors perfectly. Surprised because the figure was so light, I asked, “What is the frame made out of?”
    “Aluminum,” Grampa answered.
    Staring at the figure, I asked, “How is it supposed to catch the sun?”
    “I’ll show you how.” Grampa attached a suction cup, which had a hook, to the kitchen window. He tied a ribbon to a hole on the top of the parrot, and then used the ribbon to hang the parrot on the suction cup hook. “There we are! The parrot is in a place where you can see it all the time, and where it can catch the sun.”
    I still didn’t understand how it could catch the sun. So I asked, “Grampa, how is it catching the sun?”
    “Eddie, come closer. Take a good look at the figure. Do you notice that the colors have turned brighter?”
    “Yes! I do! The parrot’s shining brightly!” I looked at Grampa excitedly. “So this is what a suncatcher does. It lightens up when sunlight goes through it.”
    “And it also brightens up your day if you happen to have had a bad one,” Grampa added. “But now, I have to figure out what we’re going to have for lunch. How does a grilled cheese sandwich, soda pop, and potato chips sound to you?”
    I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Mom seldom let me eat cheese and things that I liked. “That sounds way cool!”
    While we ate, Grampa talked about Mom wanting me to go to a private school. He said, “The private school that Alice wants you to attend will only take 6-year-old kids that already know how to do something, such as read and write. So you have to practice writing and reading because they will give you a short admission test.”
    I scrunched my face. “Test? I don’t want to take a test.”
    “Eddie, the test is just a way for the school to figure out how much you know. If you already know a lot, they will admit you and place you in an advanced class.”
    “Oh,” I said. “But I don’t know a lot of things.”
    “But you do.” Deep in thought, Grampa massaged his chin with his fingers, and then pointed to the air with one. “For example, if you bought something that cost $4.50, and you gave them five dollars, how much change should you get?”
    “Fifty cents,” I answered immediately.
    “Perfect reply,” Grampa stated. “Tthat’s what they’re looking for. They just want to know what you know.”
    “How come?”
    “I suppose they want to figure out whether you belong in their school or not. Your mom will pay a lot of money to enroll you in that school. And that school happens to be the best. She, including me, wants you to be prepared, so we’ll do a little bit of reading and writing every day.” He paused. “But not everything should be all work and no play. How about we shop for something to give Spike since we always bump into him at the dog park? Do you think that’s a good idea?”
    “I think that would be a lot of fun,” I answered.
    “And I can read you a book later. Or, maybe you can read it to me.”
    I giggled. “Grampa, about all I can do is point at pictures.”
    “Don’t worry, Eddie. In a few more weeks, you’ll be reading at first grade level. Trust me.” Grampa smiled and ruffled my hair. “What do you want to do after we buy Spike something?”
    “I’d like to see you cut some glass.”
    “I’ll cut some glass, but first I need a template.”
    “What’s a template?”
    “It’s a guide of what we want to fill up with pieces of glass. As a template I’m going to use a picture of a cowboy riding a horse and lassoing a steer in a field of cacti and brush,” he said, pulling a glass-cutting tool from a cabinet. Next, he grabbed a letter-size sheet of red glass from a shelf, and started scoring the sheet. The procedure was fascinating. Grampa was careful to break the pieces into parts that would he would eventually use to make the picture. “These pieces have to be joined to each other with lead,” Grampa asserted. As he showed me how to do this, a wall clock chimed. Grampa checked his wristwatch. “We don’t have time to finish this project. We’ll finish it some other time.”
    “Why?” I asked confused.
    “Your mom usually starts supper by now. We have to beat her home; otherwise, she’ll be cross at us. We don’t want to upset her. Do we?”
    “No, sir!” I replied.
    We left, but I told Grampa that I wanted to watch him work on the project and see the finished product. He agreed, but only if I promised to read and write each time we met at his workshop. We high-fived our agreement, but I regretted that our time together had ended so fast. When we got home we showed Mom our suncatcher. She loved the parrot. After supper Grampa attached it to the kitchen window just as he had done at his house. Mom showed us her quilt. I was glad to see the progress she’d made, but seeing Grampa create a picture out of pieces of glass trumped Mom’s quilt.
    Three months went by. During this time, I accomplished what Grampa and Mom wanted. I learned to read and write, a little. (By write, I mean “to print”.) Grampa finished his stained-glass cowboy. It turned out beautifully. He constructed a frame from old wood and placed eye hooks on the sides. Grampa attached a long piece of 16-gauge Jack chain to the hooks so the finished product could be hung on a wall or over a large window.
    One day when Grampa was visiting Mom and me, he gave the project to my mother. She was elated and immediately decided to hang it, with Grampa’s help, in our living room picture window.
    “Thank you so much, Dad. Your creation is absolutely fantastic. Look at how the sun shines through all the pieces! I can’t wait to show it to my friends.” Mom quit staring at the stained-glass window and glanced at Grampa. Perturbed, she stated, “Dad, you look kind of flushed. Do you feel okay?”
    “I’m fine, Alice. It’s just old age creeping up on me.”
    Mom didn’t believe in postponing things, especially when they concerned her family’s health. Against his wishes, more like complaints, she took Grampa to several doctors for a bunch of tests, and I always asked, “How is he?” I wasn’t just curious. I truly cared about Grampa’s health, but Mom always answered, “I don’t know. That’s what the doctors are trying to find out.” All those doctor visits and hospital stays made me wonder if Grampa was okay.
    One evening when Grampa had been in the hospital for a three-day stay, my mother left me at home with a babysitter, an older cousin. My cousin made pastrami sandwiches for supper, but I couldn’t eat. I told her I wasn’t hungry, that I was worried about Grandpa, and would eat later. She understood and tried to keep me entertained by playing video games, cards, and checkers but I refused. I kept asking her about Grampa. Her response was always, “Don’t worry, Eddie. Grandpa Oliver is a strong man. He’ll be fine.”
    Worried, I stared at the kitchen window where the parrot hung and thought about the day Grampa and I made it.
    Suddenly I heard voices—Mom’s and Grampa’s. Grampa was home! That made me very happy. I shot out of the kitchen like a rocket to greet him. He looked frail and weak, but he still gave me one of his precious hugs. “I’m home, Eddie. I’m home to stay. You go on to bed. It’s way past your bedtime.”
    “Will you tuck me in, Grampa?”
    He nodded. We slowly ambled to my bedroom. I scrambled into my bed, and Grampa laid the covers over me. We prayed, and then he gently tousled my hair. Kissing me on the forehead, he whispered, “Good night, Eddie. Thanks for waiting up for me.” I smiled and drifted off to sleep. Unfortunately, there were days when he wasn’t able to tuck me in bed. Mom did it.
    One morning, familiar voices woke me up. I got out of bed. In my pajamas, I scrambled to the living room where cousins, aunts, and close friends had gathered. “What’s wrong?” I asked one of my cousins.
    “Grandpa is not well. He has the same illness that took his brother, Edward. Grandpa only has a few days to live.”
    That hurtful information made me take off for Grampa’s room as fast as my legs allowed. Mom was there with one of my aunts. “What are you doing here, Eddie?” Mom asked with red eyes.
    “One of my cousins told me that Grampa is not doing well, that he has his brother’s illness,” I distastefully cried out. Glaring at Mom, I shouted, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    Grampa tried to calm me down. “Eddie, your mom didn’t tell you because you and I are special friends, and she didn’t want you to see me suffer.” He added, “Eddie, don’t be mad at your mom. She was only trying to protect you.”
    Still mad at Mom, I sat at the edge of the bed, holding Grampa’s hand. As I tried to think of a way to forgive her, Grampa talked to me. “Eddie, you’re going to be a great man. My little boy, don’t forget to thank God for all that He has given you. And don’t forget me.”
    I lay beside him. Nestled in the crook of his arm, I placed my head on his shoulder. “Grampa, there is no way that I could forget you.”
    He smiled, touched my hair, and ruffled it up a little. Across from us, Mom sat on the edge of the bed, holding Grampa’s other hand. As I rested my head on his shoulder, the hand that I had been holding grew limp.
    “Grampa? Grampa, can you hear me? Grampa, are you all right?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t move. He wasn’t breathing. I put my hand on his chest, and didn’t feel his heart beating. Aware that Grampa had died, copious tears streamed from my eyes. I had just lost my best friend and father figure. I hugged him tightly. Sobs permeated the room. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends blew their noses, and then left with reddened eyes. My mother; her sister, Stella; and I stayed.
    After a long while, Aunt Holly came in. Placing her hand on my shoulder, she said, “Eddie. I need some help in the kitchen. Do you think you can help me?”
    With tears in my eyes, I gawked at her because I realized she was trying to get me out of the room. My gaze shifted from Grampa to Mom. She still clung to his hand, and appeared to be in a trance. I realized that Grampa’s death had hit her hard. After all, he was her father. Since I didn’t get any acknowledgment from Mom, I tearfully told Grampa that I would return as soon as possible because Aunt Holly needed my help.
    While I was in the kitchen, I heard voices in the living room, and went to check. I saw two guys wheeling a body away on a hospital stretcher. Immediately, I knew they were taking Grampa away. I ran to stop the stretcher, but a relative grabbed me. The front door opened and the guys left with the stretcher. As the door closed, I screamed, “Mom! They’re taking Grampa away!”
    Mom didn’t answer. I brusquely shook myself free from my captor and ran into Grampa’s room. Mom and Aunt Stella were still there. Mom sat on the bed while Aunt Stella tried to comfort her.
    Jumping on the bed, I reached Mom hollering, “Some guys took Grampa away!”
    With swollen eyelids and reddened eyes, Mom told me, “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about Grampa’s illness, Eddie. I was only trying to protect you. Will you please forgive me?” She reached out to me with her arms. How could I not forgive her? She was my mom and was suffering. Crying, I reached out to her and gave her a firm hug. Trying to keep the snot from coming out of my nose, I sniffled, then stated, “Those men took Grampa.”
    “It’s okay, Eddie. Grampa is in good hands. He is with God now, but we have to take care of his body. The people who took him will make sure that he spends the rest of his days next to your grandmother.”
    I stayed in grandpa’s room with Mom, wrapped up in her arms and cried until tears would no longer come. When I calmed down somewhat, I heard Aunt Stella say, “Alice, we need to take care of funeral arrangements.”
    The next day, with her sister’s help and friends, Mom made funeral arrangements. Meanwhile, I hung around with my cousins. Some were my age. Others were older. We tried to play and tell jokes, but the atmosphere was somber. The next afternoon, Aunt Stella told everybody to wear formal attire because we were attending a viewing that evening. I had no idea what a viewing was until I showed up at the funeral home, wearing a suit and holding my mother’s hand.
    The funeral home lobby had already filled up with people coming to pay their respects. On a stand at the main entry was a large book for attendees’ signatures. The book also had pictures of Grampa. They were hard to look at, because they reflected so many memories. Plus, I still couldn’t believe that he was gone. Every time the funeral home door opened, I turned to see who had entered because I expected that person to be Grampa, but what I saw was more people, approaching my family to express their condolences.
    With all the mourners conversing with my mother, I didn’t have a chance to talk to her about something I wanted to do with the parrot suncatcher, but I felt that I was just in the way. And suspected she wouldn’t notice my absence. Therefore, I asked Doreen, an older cousin, for a special favor. “Doreen, can you take me home?”
    “Why?”
    “I’m a bit tired. I need to get out of here and get some fresh air. My head hurts. It wouldn’t be a bad idea if I took a baby aspirin. Please,” I pleaded.
    Since my mother was busy, Doreen didn’t interrupt her. She held my hand and took me to her car. At home, we looked for a bottle of baby aspirin. Doreen found one in the kitchen. She got a glass of water and gave me an 81 mg tablet.
    “I’m sorry about Grandpa Oliver,” she said as I swallowed it. “I’m going to miss him.”
    “Me too,” I said, choking on the words because I really meant it.
    “Do you feel better,” Doreen asked.
    “Much better,” I answered, handing her the glass.
    She put it on the kitchen counter saying, “Your mother might be missing you. We better go.”
    “I think so, but can you help me get the parrot off the window?”
    “Why do you want the parrot?”
    “It’s just that it reminds me of Grampa.”
    She nodded and removed the parrot from the cup hook, handing it to me. “Is there anything else you need?”
    “No.”
    As we left for the funeral home, Doreen’s phone rang. It was my mother. She’d been looking for me. Doreen told her that we were on the way to the funeral home, and that we had gone home because I felt bad and that she had given me a baby aspirin.
    The crowd had increased by the time Doreen and I arrived at the chapel. Since we were Catholics, a chorus of mourners recited the rosary as, one by one, people stopped at Grampa’s coffin, surrounded by large bouquets of all kinds of flowers, to pay their respects. Nearby, a large wooden easel, adorned with white chrysanthemums held a large photograph of Grampa. Like sentinels, large flower arrangements surrounded the easel’s legs.
    My heart sank to my stomach when I saw Mom sitting quietly on a pew, staring at Grampa’s casket. I wobbled to the front of the chapel and sat beside her. With tear-soaked eyes she whispered, “Where were you, Eddie? I was worried about you.”
    “I had to go home to pick up something that I forgot. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Mom, but you were busy. So, I got Doreen to take me home to get this.” I took the parrot out of my pants pocket and showed it to her.
    Her face reflected confusion and sadness as she regarded the parrot, but she didn’t scold me for not telling her about my plans. In my book, not being reprimanded by her was a plus. When folks finished praying the rosary, Mom said, “Eddie, it’s way past your bedtime. We need to go home, but first I need to say ‘goodbye’ to my father.”
    Mom held my hand and got up. Tears in her eyes, she stood in front of the casket to look at Grampa for the last time. I tried to control my tears for my mother’s sake, but it was extremely difficult. I closed my eyes to keep the tears from coming but they came anyway. They saturated my eyes, and soon rivulets ran down my cheeks. Standing on the tips of my toes, I reached into the casket and put the parrot in Grampa’s stiff hands. The suncatcher reminded me of Grampa because we had made it together, but the object didn’t belong to me. It belonged to him, and according to me, Grampa was the Sun Catcher. I recalled the afternoon he showed me that he could catch the sun.
    “Goodbye, Grampa,” I said, kissing his forehead. I turned around, and then wrapped my arms around Mom. What I did must have torn my mother’s heart apart. She started sobbing loudly, and I didn’t know what to do except to hug her tightly. Sympathetic folks approached to comfort us. I released the stronghold I had on Mom, but couldn’t stop crying. Nevertheless, I was grateful for the kind words and hugs relatives and friends gave us. Eventually, Mom recovered from her crying spell and kissed Grampa’s forehead. Then she held my hand, turned around, and slowly ambled outside to our car.
    Our home as usual was empty. Tonight, it was exceptionally desolate. After all, only Mom and I lived there. I didn’t have a father. But I wanted to know things about my dad. Did I look like him? Was he alive? Yet, Mom never talked about him, and when I asked, she always said, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
    Mom helped me get ready for bed. “Good night, Eddie. Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She kissed me on my forehead and stepped out of my bedroom.
    But I couldn’t fall asleep. All I could think of was losing Grampa, so I got up and went to Mom’s room. She was working at the computer. Noticing me, she said, “What are you doing up, Eddie?”
    “I couldn’t sleep, Mom. I miss Grampa,” I responded, rubbing my eyes. They felt gritty and irritated because I had been crying so much. I glanced at the computer screen and asked, “What are you working on, Mom?”
    “I couldn’t sleep, Eddie, so I decided to do something constructive. I’m looking for a grave marker for Grampa,” she said sorrowfully. “Would you like to help me choose one?”
    I nodded and stood beside her. She continued searching through the Internet, and then I pointed to a tombstone. “Grampa would like that one.”
    “I think so, too,” she added. “I’m going to order it, right now.” She entered Grampa’s name, when he died, and his birthday. She was about to pay for the order with her credit card but I interrupted her.
    “Mom, can we add something?”
    Bewildered she asked, “What do you want to add?”
    Since I could print and spell a little, I said, “Mom, I want ‘The Sun Catcher’ under all those words.”
    Astonished, Mom asked, “Why?”
    “Because to me, Grampa was The Sun Catcher, not the parrot that hung from the kitchen window or the suncatchers he made.”
    Tears flooded her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
    “It’s okay, Eddie. I’m crying because you chose the perfect words to put on my father’s headstone. Like the sun, he added so much brightness to my life. Your grandfather enriched my life and made me what I am today.” Grabbing a tissue, she blew her nose, wiped her eyes dry, and then typed, “The Sun Catcher” as I had requested, and paid for the order. Glancing at the wall clock, she said, “Eddie, it’s 1 AM. We need to get some sleep. Grandpa’s services begin at 9, so we must be up early to greet our friends.”
    She got up and headed to my bedroom, but stopped abruptly when I said, “Mom, is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”
    Sadness filled her crystalline blue eyes; nevertheless, she managed to cheer me up. “Last one in my bed is a silly goose.” Mom said, kicking off her slippers.
    I laughed as we raced to her bedroom. I got there first, slid under the covers, and lay on my back. Mom followed me. She turned to her side, kissed my forehead, and wrapped an arm around me. “Good night, Eddie. I love you.”
    “I love you too, Mom.”
    After a long time, I heard a light snore. I was glad Mom had fallen asleep. She needed rest, and I needed her company. Sometime during the night, I also fell asleep.
    The mood was somber the following morning. Mom, got me up to eat breakfast, but I wasn’t hungry; neither was she. I had a glass of orange juice; she had a cup of coffee. Then we got ready to say “Goodbye” to Grampa. Dressed in black apparel, we arrived at the cemetery where grieving relatives and friends comforted us. A priest said a few things that I didn’t understand. Folks, including Mom, praised Grampa. When the ovations finished, the funeral director ordered the lowering of the casket. Trying to be strong for Mom’s sake, I hadn’t shed a tear until I saw Grampa’s coffin disappear into a pit. The reality of never seeing Grampa again hit me. My eyes brimmed with tears, and I clung tightly to Mom, who was also crying. I released my stronghold when well-intentioned relatives offered to help us. They followed us home and stayed for two weeks, helping with meals and chores, but their kindness didn’t help me deal with the sorrow of losing Grampa.
    It took me a long time to adjust to living without him. I missed the times we spent cutting glass to make beautiful objects; our reading and writing sessions; and walking in the dog park. Moreover, I never forgot his advice: that I should enroll in the private school Mom had selected.
    One day I asked Mom to help me improve my reading and writing. She was more than glad to do it. She taught me cursive writing and how to read books for children enrolled in second grade. That fall, thanks to her, the private school accepted me. Years later, I got my doctorate in architecture. Soon thereafter, I landed a professorial appointment in the architectural department of a prestigious university, thanks to Mom, God, and The Sun Catcher.

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