Grandpa's Guitar

35/365:

I had Harper all to myself this morning :)  We were the only two with no where to be…

We played and laughed and ate our breakfasts together :)

The afternoon held a trip to the cemetery for the last of the funeral preparations.  It was a cold, cloudy, blowy day—the icy breeze hurling even the largest of tree branches in every direction.

My grandfather gave me one of his guitars when I was a little girl—a beautiful, old, acoustic, Yamaha guitar… it's beauty rivaled only by the notes that aged guitar could sing out. 

Without question, Grandpa’s guitar, broken in by years of entertaining friends and family, could out-croon my newer prototypes any day of the week.

I learned how to play on that guitar.  I wrote songs from that guitar. 

I was too young to fully understand the beauty of that guitar.  Its beauty was different than that of the unscratched, gleaming wood of my second guitar.  Grandpa’s exquisite guitar showcased Grandpa’s love; its wood weathered from immeasurable use, as Grandpa’s melodies brought countless smiles to the faces of others… its body dinged, from being passed from family member to family member—each one of us, at one time or another, have held that beautiful guitar over our knee… or pretended to be a rockstar with it in our hands ;)  A flawless guitar from a beautiful man.

Tragically, I misplaced that guitar.  I think it may have happened when I moved.  I looked everywhere, called everyone… may have even accused a few people of stealing it, but no guitar was ever found…

Till tonight!

I walked through Grandma’s front door, just like I had the day before, but this time, BAM… there she was.  I flew across the room and picked her up like the old friend she was… ran my fingers over the strings, strained to play a few chords… Hello old friend.

How did Grandpa’s guitar find its way home?  How did it get here?  My catapult of questions returned simply with puzzled gazes—not a single family member could come up with an answer…

Guess it didn’t really matter, what did matter is that she was really home; she was where she should be—by Grandpa’s side.

That beautiful old guitar now has a new, forever home.  Steven graciously gifted me the guitar two days later and she now has a place of honor in our house.