A Good Morning With My Grandparents
I knew that my grandparents were still asleep; my grandfather was still snoring. I rose from my small bed, which was in a tiny room at the top of the stairs. The house was otherwise silent.
Near the door of their beautiful room, my grandparents lay in the high four-poster bed. That bed always made me think of them as king and queen. Even without it, there seemed something regal about them. I guess because I loved them so. The silence of the house was softly blanketed in the sweet smell of good wood.
I climbed up the left-side post of the bed, placing my foot on the cool, smooth mahogany, and crawled up onto the white chenille spread. God gave me these two people to see and love. I had no thought of anyone else in the house, though my two sisters, one brother, and mother were in their beds sleeping soundly. Moving farther up the bed, I came up to the faces of those two lovely people, and sat watching them. Grandpa's eyes slowly opened.
''Good morning, Grandpa.'' I spoke softly. Grandpa's hand, with its long slender fingers, reached out and rubbed my head. We just sat there looking at each other. Grandma, still sleeping, looked like a beautiful Indian queen. Grandpa's nightshirt was just as white as the crisp white sheets. His head lay on the big feather pillow as I snuggled under the covers beside him. I always felt so safe and protected with them.
My grandmother began to stir. She turned and raised her head from the pillow. I peeped out from under the covers. She leaned over and whispered ''good morning,'' then slipped out of bed, put on her soft dressing gown, went to the dressing table, and brushed her hair. Grandpa pushed back the covers, and soon we were all heading downstairs for breakfast.
I always remember the great joy I had that morning, just the three of us, starting the day together.