When I was in high school, my baby sister was walking on our land with my dad, towards our great aunt's house.
Now, for some background, my father NEVER mentions his father. Only time I heard him mentioned EVER was at my grandmother's funeral, and my little sister wasn't there. Basically, he was walking home from work one night, and a drunk driver slammed him into a tree, cutting him in half M. Night Shymalan in "Signs" style. He was essentially crushed, but held together by the car.
He didn't speak any profound thoughts though. He just screamed. My dad mentioned witnessing this, and I have a horrible visual image I will never suppress. Anyway.
My little sister was walking out a dirt path with my dad, her hand outstretched. She said to him, when he asked her why her hand was out, that Clifford (the name of my grandfather who'd died in said horrible accident) was holding her hand, and that he wanted her to tell my dad that he loved him, and that he was a horrible baseball player, but a good son.
My dad had never mentioned once that he sucked at baseball. This incident made him cry like crazy.
I also had an experience when my papaw died. We seldom if ever saw him, but my mom was forced to be the executor of his will. We kept the putter head that served as his door stop. One day, I was on the computer, and I heard this "shhhhhhh" noise of something grating against the hardwood floor.
It was like, 3 in the morning, everyone was asleep, and the door had been propped open the entire day. I stood up to see what the noise was, and noticed the putter head sitting directly beside my chair. This was at least fifteen feet from the door, which was still, oddly open, with no putter head.
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It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
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