When I was just a kid I’d be told to get a bucket of water for Grandma. An old well sat in the courtyard. Papa had it drilled many years ago, still in use today, even though running water had been piped into the house. Grandma, being old school, thought the well water was better than tap water, so she’d send me out to the well daily when I visited.
The truth is I didn't mind doing it because I felt helpful. The well had a circle of stones surrounding the pit and two large posts that held a crank with a rope to lower the bucket into the spring water. Papa built a roof over it because Grandma didn’t want bird droppings, leaves, branches, or other debris falling into the well.
Papa passed away a few years ago, but Grandma had a circle of friends to share her stories. Grandma spoke of Papa often and missed his companionship. They made great memories together.
He always wore a straw hat. It wasn’t fancy, something old farmers wore, and a red band trimmed the crown to honor a friend lost in the war.
About a year before his passing, as he was getting water from the well, he set his hat on the circle of stones. When he reached to grab the bucket, he knocked it into the well. Just an old straw hat, but Grandma had given it to him, so it was special, and suddenly it was gone.
Grandma bought him a new one, but he said it didn’t have that same comforting feel of the old one. People would compliment him on his new hat, so he wore it, but not every day. He missed the old one. I didn't understand why it made a difference, but for him, it did. He said the old straw hat had memories in it.
My sister was born two weeks after Papa died. Grandma called it the circle of life to celebrate the passing of one life and the beginning of another. I stayed with her that summer to help around the farm and keep her distracted when she got sad.
One morning while getting water from the well, the bucket got snagged as I pulled it up. I used a tree branch to push on the bucket. When the bucket broke loose, I removed the branch and noticed Papa’s old straw hat stuck on the end. A bit more tattered than I remembered and now it had a new hole, but still a treasure to me. In my excitement, I dropped the bucket, grabbed the hat and ran inside to show Grandma.
I held it high over my head. “Look! I found Papa’s straw hat.”
She smiled – then a tear rolled down her cheek. “It’s a sign. Papa’s waiting for me.” Grandma was so pleased.
She’s with Papa now, and I wear his hat because memories are in it.
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