When my father died my son, Marc, was five years old. His sister, Iris, at seven, seemed to understand that grandpa was not coming back; his baby brother, Danny, was unconcerned, but Marc was very confused. He looked behind my mother expectantly every time she visited and questioned, "Where is my papa?" One night my mother visited at bedtime. She sat on one of the beds, observing and participating in the usual bedtime ritual of book reading or story telling. When Marc looked at her and asked the inevitable, she began to weep. He noticed her moist eyes and remarked. "You must be lonely, Nans." Tears ran down her cheeks as she nodded her head, "Yes." He seemed lost in thought for a few minutes, and then he brightened. "You know," he said, "When I grow up, I'm going to marry you, then you won't be lonely and I'll have a grandpa again." Mother and I laughed, much to his consternation. It was the first time either of us had laughed out loud since my father's death.
Five year old Marc loved his grandfather that's true
So when grand'pa died he didn't know what to do.
He searched behind grand'ma and didn't see him there.
That's when poor Marc began to despair.
"You must be lonely," he quizzed his grandmother.
But I think I can fix that someway or other.
When I grow up I'll just marry you then,
That's how I'll have a grand'pa again