My grandfather Georges. Even though the photo is old and blurry, even though it was taken before I was born, there is a familiarity to it.

My brother Y recently shared some photos of my grandfather that he’d been given by our uncle Gilbert. I love seeing these old photos, and these sent me back into my first memory….

….I am happily sitting on the floor. The warmth of summer is cooled by the hard wood beneath me. Light from the mid-day sun streams in through the window, illuminating the long hallway. Giggling away, I enjoy the freedom of wearing only my diaper. 

As I start to crawl, a shadow appears. It is larger than life, cutting through the sun’s rays. I feel my excitement rise as he bends down to pick me up. I reach out to meet his arms. His strong hands, roughened by years working the farm, are a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips as he peppers my cheeks with kisses.


Just like that the memory fades. The more I try to to focus on grandpapa’s face, the more it evades me. It’s like trying to tune an old black and white television, whose picture has been invaded by crackling, fuzzy snow. The more I try to adjust the rabbit ears, the more I try to force his face to come back, the further it retreats.

I stop and let the warmth of the memory take over. It fills me like a cup of hot cocoa on a blustery winter day. A love balloon encircling and hugging my entire being.

My grandfather died when I was 22 months old. This fact, at times, has me questioning my first memory. I hold steadfast though. It is a feeling I can barely describe. I know in my bones, in my soul and in my heart it is him. Grandpapa Georges. 

From this first memory, where his shadow filled the hallway and he bent down to pick me up and hold me in his arms, to today, I know he watches over me. 

He is a part of my morning meditation routine. As I thank my Spirit Guides for always looking out for me, I see him standing at the front of the pack, a big beautiful smile on his face.

Some things you just know. Some things you just feel. No need to analyze or delve deeper into it.

Grandpapa Georges. I can’t even see his face in this image, and yet, the man I see here feels infinitely familiar.
Grandfather Georges and Grandmother Cordelia. She passed away well before I was born – my dad was only 13 at the time. From all accounts she was wonderful and well loved. I wish I had met her. And strangely enough, even though my grandpa’s face is more clear in this photo, it feels less familiar to me than the other photos. Maybe that’s because the memory I see in my head is so blurry…