Carrie Link

GRANDSONS


My dad died just a few weeks before Rojo was born, and nine years before Kunga came along, and yet there it no denying his role, his presence, his spirit when you get these two "brothers" together.

Kunga has been dreaming about my dad lately, waking up and saying he misses him. He spontaneously told both Woohoo and me this, too.

"I miss my granddad," he said.

"Do you remember him?" I asked.

"Yes. I remember him."

"Tell me about him," I pressed.

"I didn't know him, he died before I was born, but I remember him," he clarified.

And there isn't a doubt in my mind that he does. Nine years together on some other plane is hard to forget.

Rojo, who had to be told by a newly five-year-old that his shoes were on the wrong feet, said one profound thing after another this weekend as we spent our time in my father's old house - indeed, the house in which he died.

STM simply asked, "Hey, Rojo, what time is it?"

"You'd know if you had harmony in your soul," he said.

After playing with a ball in the back yard, Woohoo said, "Rojo, where did the ball go?"

"I affected your energy and now you can't find it."

My dad was a piece of work, but after fourteen years only the fond memories come to mind now when I think of him - there's been time to heal. The "brothers" only know the funny stories, and there were plenty. They have a divine connection to a man that is their grandfather, a man that affected their energy.

A man whose soul has finally found harmony.

Amen.