A muscular, trim man with wire-rimmed glasses waited at the door for us. I said, “ Hi, Grandpa. I’ve missed you.”

Grandpa picked me up and gave me a big kiss. “ I’ve missed you, too,” he said.

He carried me into the living room and sat me in his lap. For the next ten minutes, he brushed my hair. His strokes were very gentle, unlike my mother, who pulled my hair and made me cry.

When he finished, he laid the brush aside and said, “Vicki, go get my strongbox, so we can have a look see.”

As I went down the hall to Grandpa’s bedroom, I wondered what treasure he’d share with me this time. I entered his room and looked under the bed from where I pulled a metal strongbox about the size of a shoebox and carried the heavy container down the hall to the living room.“Here, Grandpa.”  I handed him the box.
}
He pulled me into his lap.  As he lifted the lid, I saw inside old coins, old sepia photos, old documents and an antique stopwatch attached to a fob.

“No one sees inside this box but you, Sweetheart,” said Grandpa.

“You make me feel really special, Grandpa,” I said.

“That’s because you are.”

Grandpa pulled out a watch with silver casing, the face full of big black numbers, and on the back an engraving, ‘William Paul Jones’. With a smile, Grandpa tapped the words. “This belonged to my father. He worked on the Pacific Railroad and used this on the job. Being on time was extremely important to the railroad. He wore this watch attached to a chain and tucked to his vest pocket.”

As he talked, his eyes looked beyond me to a time long past. “ Your great grandpa was a conductor for the railroad, which was pretty important. He supervised the crew and was responsible for the passengers’ safety.” He placed it in my hand. “Listen to it.”

I held it up to my ear and heard the ticking.  My fingers ran over the engraving on the back. “It must be very special because it was your daddy’s,” I said.

“Yes, very special.” Grandpa took the watch and laid it back in the box. “Put it away now, and I’ll tell you another story next Sunday. Right now it’s time for supper, so go get washed up.”

I hugged Grandpa and ran to the bathroom to wash up.

That was when Grandpa was well. It was only a few weeks later that I noticed the first changes in him. As he walked to the dining room table, he lost his balance and grabbed onto a chair to steady him. After supper, he collapsed in his favorite chair and said little.
Driving home after dinner no one spoke. I imagined they were thinking about Grandpa, too.

Each Sunday I could see the man who once was so big and strong growing more and more frail as he stumbled into furniture and walls. I feared he was going blind.

One evening at home as I walked down hall toward the living room, I heard my parents discussing Grandpa. Hiding in the shadows, I kept quiet and listened.

My father said, “Pop’s got a malignant brain tumor and leukemia.”

 “What can the doctors do for him?” Mom asked.
 
“They’re talking brain surgery. After that we’ll know more.”

 Even as a child I understood Grandpa’s condition was serious since it involved the brain, but I had no idea what leukemia was. Who could I ask? Nobody discussed this sort of thing with children.

On the day of the scheduled brain surgery, Daddy drove Grandpa to the hospital. For the next couple of hours, Daddy paced up and down in the waiting room. When the doctor emerged, Dad knew the news wasn’t good.

“We didn’t perform surgery,” the doctor said. “After looking at the x-rays and latest test results, we felt his cancer was too far advanced.”  He laid a hand on Daddy’s shoulder.

“We bandaged his head so that he’ll think we operated. It may give him a week or so of peace of mind.”

“ We need to keep your father until tomorrow to allow the antiseptic to wear off.
A nurse wheeled Grandpa down the corridor to the elevator and to the curb where Dad waited with the car.

In the car Grandpa asked, “ How’d the surgery go?”

Dad tried to keep his voice steady and unemotional. “Doctors said things went pretty well. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Grandpa remained quiet.

At home that night when my parents thought I was asleep, I crept out of my room and once again heard them talking.

“He needs something to hold on to, Opal,” Dad said. “Otherwise he’ll give up.”

“Maybe we can think of something he’d like to do and would be capable of doing. We certainly don’t want to frustrate him anymore than he already is.”

“He enjoyed raising chickens. Maybe something like that. How about rabbits? I could buy some hutches and some rabbits. That wouldn’t be too hard. What do you think?”

Mom pursed her lips, and after a few seconds she nodded. “It’s worth a try.”

Dad bought four hunches, which he helped the deliverymen set up the backyard. He filled the hutches with dozen rabbits.
      
“Think you’ll enjoy raising rabbits?” Daddy asked Grandpa.
    
Grandpa replied in a solemn, dry voice, “I guess so.”

I’m sure this wasn’t the response Daddy wanted but probably the one he expected.
Dad strung a clothesline from the house to the fence and a second line along the front of the hutches. Grandpa now had something to focus on instead of his failing health. He was able to steady himself and find his way to feed and tend the rabbits.

 On the first Sunday after Daddy installed the hutches, Grandpa asked me: “Want to feed the rabbits?”

“Sure Grandpa, I’d love to.” I said.

Grandpa got his cane, and I held his hand to help steady him.

The hutches rested on stilts, and I stood on my tiptoes to look in.

“Oh Grandpa, they’re beautiful. I didn’t know they came in so many different colors--black, white, brown. I really love the mixed brown and white.” I looked up at Grandpa.

“Can I hold him?”

With a hand that shook, he reached into the hutch, grabbed the rabbit by the nape of the neck and pulled it out. I took the rabbit from him, its floppy ears brushing my face.

 I hugged it close to me. “It’s so soft and furry.”

“Let’s put the rabbit back in the hutch, and I’ll let you feed them.”

Grandpa put the rabbit into the hutch and handed me a scoop of pellets.

“You can let them eat out of your hand or you can just toss the food into the hutch,” Grandpa said.

The rabbit I had held came to the front of the hutch, allowed me to pet him and ate out of my hand. I laughed at the way his ears drooped from side to side.
“Grandpa, he’s not afraid of me. He likes me,” I said. “I’m going to name him ‘Floppy’.”
I had just finished feeding the rabbits when Mom called: “Jannie, That was her nickname for me. “Come inside and watch your little brother. I need to help Grandma get dinner on the table.”

I took Philip to the back bedroom. I got down on the floor and looked under the bed where I knew I’d find a coloring book and crayons. Philip loved to color, and it made him so much easier to watch. Suddenly, I heard a loud thump and a squeak outside. Jumping to my feet, I ran to the window. Just as I began to draw the curtain back, Philip grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the kitchen. My little brother seldom talked, so I was his communicator.

 “Mom, Philip wants a drink,” I said

 “Jannie, you need to stop speaking for him or he’ll never talk.” Exasperated, she said,
“Go get him a drink.”

I found a clean glass and filled it with water from the tap. “Don’t spill it,” I said.
“Come on Philip let finish our coloring.”

An hour later, Mom called, “Come on everybody. It’s time for supper.”

Our Sunday meals consisted of pretty much the same each week--some kind of roast or fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, peas, corn, and a towering stack of fresh white bread.  The meal began when Grandpa piled mashed potatoes on his plate and passed it on.  Slowly each dish moved clockwise around the table. When the platter of meat came to me, I asked, “Is this chicken?

Grandma said, “It’s rabbit.”

I felt suddenly queasy, and I looked away hoping I wouldn’t throw up. “I don’t want any,” I said.

“It tastes just like chicken. I think you’ll like it,” Daddy said.

“I don’t want any,” I said.

I passed the platter to my mom. “ May I be excused?” I asked.
 
“You hardly touched your food.” Mom said.

I ran out to the backyard. I was almost too afraid to look, but I had to know. I stood on my toes and looked into the first hutch. The rabbits scurried away, no Floppy. The second hutch was the same, no Floppy. At the third hutch, I panicked. I didn’t see Floppy, and I started to cry.

Grandpa was beside me then. He had made his way from the table and out the back door, which shook worse than I had ever seen as he opened the hutch door and reached far back inside. A moment later he brought out Floppy.

I took him from Grandpa and held him so tightly I felt his little heart beating very fast against my chest.

Grandpa said, “Don’t worry, Sweetheart.  He’s not going anywhere.”

Only then did I stop crying.

                                                          END