There’s a grandfather clock in my house. To the average guest in
my home it’s just a piece of furniture, a little dusty and not
overly ornate.
There’s a grandfather clock in my house. To the average guest in my home it’s just a piece of furniture, a little dusty and not overly ornate. This clock was given to me by my parents when they retired and moved out of the area. I remember when it was new. I waited eagerly to hear the chime with my little face tilted upward watching for the hands to move into position and strike the hour.
I listened for it in the dark when everyone was sleeping. I remember when my life was measured in hours and each one had a purpose, even if it was intended just for play time. The clock told me when it was time for dinner and when it was time for bed. It sang a song to remind us to go to Sunday school or to bring us together for a family night eating popcorn and watching TV. I can still hear my sister calling, “Donny and Marie is on” with the bonging of the clock sounding off in the distance.
Years went by and one day I found myself standing face to face with that old clock. I realized in that moment that I was an adult. It occurred to me that I had forgotten how to break my day up by the hour.
I started thinking about how I measured time and realized that I planned my life in weeks.
“This week, I’m going to go to the dentist, clean my carpets and have lunch with a friend. Next week, I’m having a birthday party for my son.” My father-in-law, who is retired, shared with me that he broke down time by seasons. “This summer, I … Next spring, we will …” I wonder if that’s the way it is for all of us as we get older? How do we lose those minutes and hours?
You have to understand that when this clock came back into my life, I lived in a volatile household and was on the brink of finding myself with no biological family left in Gilroy.
I used to have three siblings here, both of my parents, two grandmothers and a great aunt. We (the clock and I) renewed our relationship and I got to know its nostalgic sounds all over again.
The chime was still strong and accurate and it only occasionally complained with a clanging of confusion if a strong wind slammed the front door shut.
My Dad brought this clock to me as a way of leaving a little piece of him in my home after he moved away. The swinging gold medallion pendulum represented his beating heart, ticking near me always. He knew I still needed him.
I can still painfully remember the circumstances of my life at that time. There were days when I was the last to leave a quiet house and the only sound was that of my childhood grandfather clock. My life was so overwhelming that it took every bit of strength I had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I set my feet in motion to the beat of the ticking clock and marched out the door to face the world each day, because time would not stand still and wait for me.
Less than a year after giving the clock to me, my Dad died unexpectedly. I got the call at work and drove home. I went straight to the clock, opened the glass door and stopped the pendulum to let it rest for a while. When you lose someone you love, it’s easy to wish to world would stop turning while you pull yourself together.
I don’t remember the day I opened the little door and gave the pendulum a gentle push to bring it back to life, but it’s been going strong ever since.
My grandfather clock is a little on the fickle side now. It doesn’t always chime anymore and when it does, it’s not always correct. It’s out of pitch and painfully slow, but it still keeps good time.
I’m trying to slow down a little, acknowledge the hours again and every happy moment.
I know that even if I forget, every day this old grandfather clock of mine will record the moments of my life with a steady pulse and an occasional song to remind me of where I have been and where I am going.
Lydia Eden-Irwin and her husband were both raised in Gilroy. They have three children
collectively. Lydia can be reached at ed*****@ao*.com.
