My Grandparents: The Meaning Of True Love

No, these aren’t vintage pictures of some random couple. Sorry, hipsters. These are my grandparents. My aunt posted these photos on Facebook and I just had to share, since it’s Mother’s Day and all. I believe these were taken in the 1940s.

My grandmother talked about my grandfather like he was the only man she ever loved; that’s because he was. She told me they met in high school. They were in the same class and when their teacher was calling attendance, they both said “here” at the same time. Why? Because they both had the same last name: George. Crazy huh? It’s like it was written in the stars for them. In fact, now that I think about it, they had a lot of strange coincidences between them. I hate using the term “coincidence” mainly because I don’t believe they’re coincidences at all.

My grandfather died when I was only a year old so I don’t remember him but I wish I did. My grandmother spoke fondly of him always. Every birthday and holiday she would reminisce on old times and through her tears she would wish he were with us sharing those special moments. I wonder if she knew he was there for it all, just like I know she is with us in spirit through all of the wonderful and tough times. It’s been almost 6 years since she passed and not a day goes by that I don’t think of her and wish she were here.

I never knew a love quite like my grandparents. I only wish to have a love like that someday. Every time I say that love does not exist, my mind shoots over to my grandparents and I’m proved wrong. I then believe that it IS possible.