So tonight my oldest daughter, her two kids and my husband went to the local minor league baseball game. Her oldest son, all of 4 years old, earned the tickets reading books during the school year with his dad. Dad couldn’t go, had to work late, so Pop Pop came home from work a bit early and they all climbed into her car —our daughter, her son, her 2 year old daughter and my husband, and went to the game.
She sent me 2 pictures. One, right after they arrived. Pizza on their laps, cuddling up, ready to watch some ball. The second, my husband holding our granddaughter. Both of them smiling, him holding her above his head, with those arms.
My husband has the best arms. Wide, strong, a little farmer tan up around the shoulder. Always holding, cradling something. Whether its a grandchild, me or the transmission from his 66 Nova, always holding something.
And for some reason those arms in that picture brought back a flood of memories. Such a strong man. Graduated high school and went to work while I finished college. Bought us a house and did his best to provide us with everything we wanted. Pouted when I went to work, feeling like he should do it all. Wanting those arms and that back to support us all.