My grandfather died two years after suffering a stroke. The image of him standing in the kitchen, smiling, the night before it happened has always remained with me. It was not unusual to find a smile on his face. He was charming and had a delightful sense of humor. That stroke robbed him of so much and ultimately the onset of another one would take his life.

A few days after his death I had a vivid dream of him. I held a note in my hand that read: I didn’t leave you much as you have what you need. To this day, I can clearly see it in my mind’s eye. The message was clearly written in his handwriting. Startled by the dream I woke up. My attention was drawn to the corner of the room. It was there that I saw him. He was dressed in the blue suit in which he was buried. It was all so clear, even down to his Marcasite tie tack. He was smiling, the smile that I had known my entire life. Then as quickly as I saw him, he faded. Although it has been over forty years, I can recall it as if it was yesterday.

Stay with me as I make what looks like a leap into another subject matter. How often have you noticed spare change in a parking lot? So often it is only a penny but without embarrassment I will stop and pick it up. I have an understanding that it is a gift from my grandfather, pennies from heaven. Better yet, it is a gift, from his pocket to mine. Recently that came to mind as I thought I spotted a coin in the parking lot. It was only a circular piece of gum, discarded and now ground into the macadem. Kiddingly, I invoked my grandfather. I asked him why he had been so stingy lately and not left any change for me. I continued to run my errands and as I departed the next store I spotted change in the parking lot. He must have heard me and wanted to ensure I didn’t think him stingy. This time I was gifted a dime! Maybe it is time for a new song referencing dimes from heaven rather than pennies.

My grandfather has given me a bounty of memories. I was young when he came to live with us. I would sit on his lap and we would rock in the swivel rocker in the living room. He would entertain me with a rhyme that perfectly accompanied the rhythm of our rocking. It began with the line: See saw, knock at the door. It would continue and eventually end with a silly verse. There were other aspects of his life that have all but been forgotten. He drove a white Cadillac, the model with fins. He confessed to my friend that he was addicted to duck pin bowling. Laughing, he told her he couldn’t pass by an alley without going in for a game. Sunday would find him playing pinochle with his friends, ironically all from the same town in Italy.

I recently had the good fortune to obtain Grandpop’s secretary desk from my brother. It gives a sense of joy to now have it in my home. My thoughts go to his giving nature. I am moved when I think of the effort he made to come out one last time after his stroke. My son was being baptized and he didn’t want to miss the event. The last picture we have of him is on that day, one arm in a sling, the other holding my son as an infant. I have received wonderful gifts from my grandfather, a lifetime of love and memories. Now I gladly accept those pennies from heaven as a tangible reminder of him.