I can imagine the sound of her laughter as she was tickled by his large leathered hands. Part of her knew that he was teasing but the other part knew he would never let go. He loved her - she knew it, she could feel it.
She grabbed his hands and for a moment he stopped. He looked down into her eyes and she returned the gaze. Everyone who witnessed them together could feel it - he loved her. He loved with everything he had.
This moment was captured inside a black and white photo during a time when women always wore dresses and vehicles were solid metal. This photo was taken when life was simple and the small town farmer was a rich man. A different time than now. But the love is still the same - strong, real and very much alive.
Scratched in blue ink on the bottom of the photo it reads, "My little love"
The words were too rough and to masculine to have been written by the hand of the woman in the photo. Instead it looked as if the pen could barely fit within the large hands of the master who held it. And even though it was written with such intensity, it looked sincere. He did loved her. He still loves her.
The photo is perfect.
Then she touched it and traced the picture with her aged hands. She couldn't see it anymore, macular had taken her vision. Looking in my direction she asked me what was in this picture. I described it to her and she relaxed into a sense of memory, she smiled and giggled just the way I imagined her doing in the image. I read her what was written. "That is what Fred called me," she said, "I was his little love," then she giggled again.
"I once wrote a story titled 'Fred and Little Red'. I don't know what I did with it and I wish I still had it. I was his 'Little Love' - his 'Little Red,'"she paused, "I miss him."
Grandma has always told me stories of Grandpa Fred. She has always told me about how much she loves him. She taught me everything about being a hopeless romantic. But never did I realize the love that Grandpa had for her.
He cherished her. With everything he loved her.
There were lots of pictures that we looked at last night, Grandma and I. And each them came with story. But my favorite pictures were the once with Grandma and Grandpa together because he always had her hand and he was always looking at her with eyes that sang in love.
I believe in true love. This true love.