The Great Card Game in the Sky

We had just left Kansas City. I looked out the tiny window next to me and noticed we were already high above the clouds. Fluffy cotton-ball clouds, the kind I always pictured angels bouncing around on, playing, relaxing, enjoying Heaven.

I wondered if maybe my grandpa was down there on those clouds right then, as I flew overhead. Perhaps playing Sheepshead with his dad, Uncle Tom and Uncle Paul. I wonder who their fifth would be.

Whoever joins in those celestial Sheepshead games, they better watch out. They can’t win. Someone put a hand of all the best trump in Grandpa’s suit pocket today during the funeral.* He can take that queen to the prom for eternity. Guess I could have given him only one nickel instead of four or five. (They always play for nickels, and since he’ll never loose, he’ll never have to give up a nickel.)

*I don’t know if this is a Polish tradition or what, but people put little presents in the casket for Grandpa. Things like his favorite candies or hats, things that reminded them of Grandpa, things that were important to their relationship with Grandpa.