Tripp receives a history-laden memento from his dying grandpa. In turn he slips his own treasure into the coffin at the viewing service.
Enjoy the story.
Grandpa’s Lucky Penny
Bob Gillen
Tripp’s thumbs flashed across his phone as he texted his middle school friends while hanging in the ICU waiting room. Tripp’s grandfather had been admitted to intensive care last night in grave condition. He looked up to see his mom standing over him.
“He wants to see you.”
She sat down next to Tripp, put her hand on his knee.
“Me? Now? Why?”
His mom patted his knee.
“Go on. He’s awake right now.”
Tripp twisted in his seat.
“What do I say?”
His mom shook her head. “You don’t have to say anything. Just sit with him.”
“Mom, I can’t.”
She took his hand. “You can do this. He loves you. He just wants to see your face.”
Tripp stood, pocketed his phone, walked slowly down the hall. Around him monitors beeped, nurses moved silently from patient to patient. One nurse motioned Tripp over to his grandfather’s bed. She nodded for him to stand by the bed.
His grandfather opened his eyes, turned to face Tripp. “Hey, buddy.”
“Hi, grandpa.”
Tripp’s eyes scanned the bed. Tubes snaked into grandpa’s body. His arms, his chest, an oxygen tube under his nose. One monitor lit with green and red lines.
Tripp shuddered. This was not the man he had been with only a week ago, at a family picnic.
Tripp panicked when a sudden sharp beeping sounded next to the bed. A nurse appeared, touched a monitor. The beeping stopped. She reached up to adjust a bag of fluid hanging from a stand.
“Not to worry,” she said to Tripp. “Time to replace his meds.”
When she stepped away, Grandpa lifted a bony finger, pointed to a bedside table. “The bag…my clothes.”
Tripp opened his eyes wide. “You can’t get dressed right now.”
The finger shook gently. “Get my pants.”
Tripp pulled the drawstring open on a clear plastic bag, pulled out a faded pair of jeans.
“Left rear pocket, my wallet.” Grandpa took a sudden deep breath. His eyes watered.
Tripp found a thin leather wallet. Held it up for his grandfather to see.
“Open it.”
“I don’t want your money,” he protested.
“Be quiet… Listen to me.” Grandpa closed his eyes, squinted in pain.
The nurse reappeared at the bedside. “You doing okay, Gus?” She glanced at the monitors, brushed a few stray hairs off his forehead.
Tripp said, “He’s asking for his wallet.”
The nurse laughed. “We don’t take tips.”
Grandpa managed a thin smile, pointed at Tripp.
“Ah, you want him to bring you a burger. You don’t like our food.”
Grandpa’s head gave a feeble shake. He grimaced with a twinge of pain.
“Okay, you rest. I’ll leave you alone.” The nurse touched Tripp’s shoulder, stepped away.
Grandpa took a few shallow breaths. “Open it.”
Tripp opened the wallet. He spied a faded photo of a wedding couple.
In a raspy voice Grandpa said, “Behind the picture.”
Tripp pushed two fingers into the photo sleeve, extracted a paper-thin object, a greenish coppery color. Roughly oblong in shape.
“Take it… It’s yours.”
Tripp gave grandpa a puzzled look.
“My lucky penny.”
Grandpa coughed. The nurse again appeared, holding a tissue to wipe mucus from Gus’s lips. She took the wallet from Tripp, put it back in the pants pocket, closed up the bag.
“Don’t be long. He needs to rest.” She stepped away again.
Tripp stared at the oddly-shaped penny.
“My father… it was his penny.” Grandpa closed his eyes for a few moments. He spoke slowly. “My mother took the penny…put it on a rail at a train station to flatten it. She gave it to my father…drafted in World War Two.”
He pointed to the table. “Water.’
Tripp found a cup with a straw, held it for grandpa to sip.
“My father carried the lucky penny…stormed the beaches at Normandy, fought through France and into Germany. Came home safe.”
“I didn’t know that,” Tripp said.
“Never told anyone…before now.”
Tripp rubbed the penny between his fingers.
“Take it. My father, me, now you. Our secret.”
Grandpa closed his eyes.
The nurse tapped Tripp’s shoulder. “You should go now.”
Tripp reached in, touched grandpa’s pale hand. “Thanks.”
A day later Grandpa passed away. Before the funeral service, Tripp rode his bike down to the nearby rail station. He placed a penny on the rail, taped it down with a strip of blue painter’s tape. He watched the time on his phone. An Amtrak passenger train was due through in half an hour.
After the train passed, Tripp walked along the rail for about twenty feet till he spied the tattered blue tape and the flattened penny.
At the viewing service that evening, Tripp watched while family and other mourners knelt in front of the open coffin. His mom busied herself greeting family and friends with hugs, whispers, tears. When the mourners cleared away from the front of the room, Tripp stepped forward, knelt at the rail in front of the coffin. Grandpa’s body wore a navy blue suit, his bony hands folded over the jacket.
Tripp stole a glance over his shoulder. No one seemed to be paying attention to him. He pulled the shiny, newly flattened penny from his pocket. Reached forward and slipped it under grandpa’s hands. He shuddered touching the cold hands.
Tripp stood, whispered, “I’ll always carry your penny, grandpa. This new one will carry you wherever you go… I love you.”
***
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