Mason clasped her hands, as he squatted before the sofa. "I love you, Nan…more than anything in this world." At thirty-six, no shame would accompany the words—the affection for his beloved grandmother.

After his father ran off with a younger woman, never to be heard from again, after his mother had a nervous breakdown then joined the Peace Corps then Amnesty International´s European division—all before his fifth birthday—Nan, his mother´s mother, nurtured him to adulthood and beyond.

Nan sat with hands in Mason´s, upon her lap. She wore thick, black-rimmed glasses, a powder-blue, knee-length knit dress, and support hose and shoes. She sported curly, gray hair and hazel eyes.

Mason´s grandmother suffered from early-stage Alzheimer´s Disease. Most days, Nan conversed with ease, no less articulate than the former schoolteacher had ever been. But some days…some hours…some moments…

Nan ogled Mason. "Who are you, young man?"

Mason´s milk chocolate eyes welled; he forced a smile. "It´s me, Nan—it´s Mason."

Nan cocked her head to one side. She squinted as she studied him. "Mason? Mason who?"

Tears raced down his olive cheeks and splashed upon his two-day, Sunday stubble. "Mason…your grandson."

"Grandson?" Nan smiled. "I don´t have a grandson."

All day, each Saturday from age twelve to present day, they´d play chess in her living room, the game Nan and Pa, his grandfather, taught him. Each Sunday, as a boy, he´d travel with Nan and Pa to church, as a Methodist. There, via their guidance, he learned right from wrong, to choose compassion over empathy, to believe in something "bigger." Yet, both Nan and Pa patted him on the back with a smile when, as a twenty-four-year-old adult, he told them he´d found Buddha. Each weekday during childhood, she´d council and tutor him on homework subjects; each weekday during adulthood, at some point, they´d chat via phone.

Nan still smiled. "But whoever you are, you sure are a handsome man." She looked him up and down. "You look like you´re quite successful…and take very good care of yourself too. I approve."

Still a yoga fanatic at seventy-four, Nan taught him, as a child, about fitness, about health. Thus, the vegetarian Mason earned his black belt in Taekwondo at age seventeen, and throughout his teens and twenties he competed in summer competitions across the nation.

Nan and Pa instilled upon him the importance of art and beauty. Therefore, as a side interest and with their full support, Mason shot photography. So good did he become at his "hobby" that five months after he completed his undergraduate studies he showed for the first time, at a London gallery.

As for his profession, his passion…Nan´s thirst for reading propelled Mason to a Ph.D. in Contemporary Literature and a subsequent professorship at Concordia University, his education paid in-full by Nan and Pa´s estate.

Nan had shaped everything he´d become—and he liked who he´d become.

Mason squeezed her hands, as he fought to stay composed. He bit his upper lip in an attempt to contain the tears, the sobbing gasps, the childlike sniffles.

Nan gazed at him but said nothing.

Mason lowered his head to her knees and rested it there; he still clasped Nan´s hands.

Upon this sofa, while he bawled and bawled, a calm Nan had tended to the bloodied knee he´d earned after an adolescent bicycle spill. Upon this sofa, while he yearned to bawl, Nan soothed him after he and his high school sweetheart split. Together, upon this sofa nine years prior, he and Nan sat in enduring embrace and cried their eyes out after Pa died.

Mason drew a deep breath and lifted his head from Nan´s knees. His cheeks glistened. He watched his thumbs massage her hands.

"Ohhhh…now I recognize you."

Mason looked to Nan. His heart ached. Who does she think I am now? he thought.

Nan nodded. "Yes. We used to play chess together, when you were a little boy." She grinned. "Mason…yes, I remember." Nan caressed his cheek, wiping away tears. "Oh, how I love you so, my little one."

Mason continued to fight his tears. He clenched her hands and kissed them. "And I love you, Nan." He looked to her. "I´ll love you forever."

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Copyright © 2009 Nelson Pahl

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If you enjoyed this story, you'll probably love Nelson"s Two for Tuesday. You can find it here.