Olivia Allen

My eight year old grandson Robert and I were sitting in our living room just after dinner

on my old brown floral couch, a book in my hand and a toy train in his. As the room was getting

dark the words on my page were getting harder and harder to see. I placed it down on the coffee

table. I told Robert its time for bed but as always he asked me to tell him a story first. I agreed

and he ran over to the rocking chair and grabbed his bear that had seen better days. He snuggled

up next to me and I asked what he wanted to hear. Looking up at me with his big brown eyes he

said “the Ireland one”, without hesitation. He knew this was a long one and would buy him some

more time.

***

It was 1899 when I was living in a small town in ireland. My parents were potato

farmers, that's how they made a living. The irsh potato famine started in 1845 and was causing

people to starve to death. They say it was the worst famine in Europe to happen in the 19th

century. My family was extremely poor during this time. Our country was still feeling the effects

of the famine many years later. When I was 16, in 1899 my parents told me they could no longer

take care of me because they were so poor. They told me my only chance to survive was to leave

Ireland on a boat and move to America. I thought they were crazy. They explained to me that this

was the best time for me to go to America due to the amount of job opportunities they had. A

few days later we said our goodbyes. They were devastated. My father hugged me and

apologized that they were having to send me away but that it was for the best. I put on a brave

face and got on the big steel boat. The ride felt like forever. My stomach was in knots. A million
thoughts were running through my head like what would I do when I got there? Where would I

live? Where could I get a job? As our boat arrived at the dock it was already close to night and I

needed to find somewhere to sleep. I settled for a bench about a mile away from where our boat

had docked. The October weather in New York was not helping my situation. I barely got any

sleep through the night. As the sun rose I decided that if today was going to be successful, I

needed to quickly find work and a place to stay.

As I was walking around, New York city was already not as glamorous as people made it

out to be. My parents were right in the fact that there were many job opportunities but ones like

factory work, ditch-digging, burying gas pipes and stone cutting but these were all very

dangerous. I noticed people out in the distance digging ditches. I walked up to them and asked

who the boss was. An older man, probably around my father's age raised his hand. He wasn't the

most well kept human. His beard was long, his clothes had holes, and he was all dirty. “Well you

sure are a skinny little boy aren't you”. I looked down at myself embarrassed. “Grab a shovel and

get to work,” he said. I quickly followed his order and started digging. Next to me was a boy

that was a little older than me. “I’m Jack,” he said. I nodded and kept digging. My bare arms

were freezing and sore. The minutes felt like hours and the hours felt like days. As the sun

started to set the boss sent us all home. I stood there not knowing where to go. Jack looked back

at me and yelled “you need a place to stay?’’ I nodded and walked about two miles down the

road to his little unkempt one bedroom house. He told me that I could sleep on the couch. The

same thing happened every day. Work all day then sleep.

I was now 18. I had just bought my own house after saving up the past two years digging

ditches. I decided it was time to get a new job. I chose stone cutting. I liked this job a lot more
considering it was a lot less work. One night not long after starting my new job, I went to get a

drink at the nearby pub. Being a friday night, the inside was very busy. I got a table for one, sat

down and ordered my drink. Directly across the room I saw the most beautiful woman I had ever

seen. “Was it grandma?” Robert asked with excitement.

“Well you have to let me finish my story first”.

***

As I was saying, she was beautiful. She giggled with another friend as her white smile

shined. She had silky long blonde hair. She was tall, probably 5’7 at least but standing next to me

she would look small since I was standing at 6' 3.

I walked over to her hesitantly and asked her to sit down and have a drink with and she

agreed. “What's your name?” I asked with a smile.

“Elizabeth,” she said. “Irish?”

“How could you tell?” I asked while laughing. We hit it off right away. We talked for

hours while time got away from us. I had to catch myself many times as I forgot to listen to her

while getting caught up looking at her big blue eyes. They twinkled perfectly as the light hit

them. I looked over at the clock on the wall, to my surprise it was already midnight. We didn't

even notice the employees around us cleaning up the pub for closing. “We should probably go,” I

said with a sad face. I watched her walk away until she disappeared into the distance. From that

night, I always knew that I was going to marry her.

Elizabeth and I spend almost every night together after work after three months of

spending nearly every day together I decided I would ask her to marry me. I went to a jewelry

store around the corner from where I worked to pick out a ring. The one I purchased was simple
but stunning just like Elizabeth. The next night, I suggested we go back to the pub where we first

met. We sat on opposite sides of the table with a glass vase with one yellow flower in it. I still

looked at her the same as the day we met. Still noticing the little thing like her ocean blue eyes,

her long silky blonde hair, her little half smile as we spoke. There was a break in our

conversation. I had a knot in my stomach and in my throat. I decided this was the perfect time. I

stood up at the table and got down on one knee. “Eizabeth, will you marry me?” I asked, smiling

ear to ear. Her eyes got giant as gasped and covered her mouth in shock.

“Yes”, she whispered in shock with tears streaming down her face. She stood up and

gave me the biggest hug you could imagine. My heart was racing. “Oh this is your grandma if

you haven't caught on yet,” I told Henry. He giggled and told me to keep going.

***

We married that June and a year later had John, your father of course. She was the best

mother. John adored her just as much as I did. They would play together and read books all the

time. Little did I know this was going to be the worst year of my life. Elizabeth developed a rare

form of cancer in her lungs. She got very sick, very quickly. We were too poor to go to the

doctors regularly. Her condition weakened her body to the point where she couldn't even stand

without gasping for air. She was diagnosed in July just after John's first birthday. We lost her on

September 13, two days before my birthday. I was devastated. Life without her hurt so much.

Getting through my days were agonizing. Elizabeth's sister stayed with John during the day

while I was at work. The fact that I had him was comforting, even though he was just a baby, it

felt like I always had a piece of your grandma with me.

 ***

I looked down at Henry and he was sound asleep. I carefully moved his head off my side

and carried him to bed. It was much past his bedtime. I knew he was exhausted because he didn't

move a mussel all the way up the stairs, down the hallway, or as he placed him in bed. As I left

the room, I couldn't help but think about how much Elizabth would have loved him and Henry

would have loved her.