My Grandfather’s Clock

My grandfather’s clock did not stop ticking the day he died as the song goes.  it kept ticking beyond the lives of my parents. My kind sibs gave me the opportunity to inherit it, but I declined. Why would I let such a magnificent family heirloom go?  

After Pop died, I flew to see Mom for an overnight. My grandfather’s clock was one of the few pieces Mom retained and took with her to assisted living. Instead of getting a motel, I decided to sleep on mom’s to short couch to save a few bucks.  The couch was a little like laying on a concrete bench. I rested my head on the arm which rose vertically about eight inches above the seat. If that was not enough to cause insomnia, my grandfather’s clock stood ticking nearby.   

Every fifteen minutes the clock notified me what time of day it was. Every fifteen minutes it played a tune: ding dong, dong ding, dong, ding ding dong; This tune, so I’ve heard, is a universal sound that scientists beam out into space to possibly attract a reply from aliens. But I digress. On each hour following the ding dongs, the clock chimes a jarring BONG, BONG, BONG, BONG, BONG… however many times it is hours in the night.  

The next morning mom asked: “Did you sleep well?”   

“Not really, Mom. The clock kept me awake. I laid awake waiting for the next ding dong or BONG.” 

“Oh, I never hear that,” she said, “I just tune it out.”