The Clock

          At some point in the early 1980's, my grandfather bought a clock.

          Now, without any background knowledge of my grandfather, one would be inclined to read that sentence and not think twice about it. If you knew him though, you'd know just how rare of an event it was for Grandpa to purchase any kind of material possession whatsoever.

          My grandfather loved to build things. The list of things he built is seemingly endless, with his own house topping a long and impressive list. Simply put, if he needed it, he made it with his own two hands and if it was broken, he fixed it himself. A repairman's business would go belly up if he was waiting on a call from John Burghardt.

          So on that day in the '80's, John accompanied his wife Hazel at one of the stores in the Fox Valley Mall. While she was browsing up and down the aisles, John suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and stared at an item. Hazel noticed this, began moving over to his side, and when she arrived there John just continued to stare straight at the item and announced, 'We're buying this clock.'

          What could she say other than yes? She knew her husband rarely bought material possessions, but he was obviously taken by this mini grandfather clock so they made the purchase and soon thereafter, the clock hung on the wall of their living room, directly adjacent and to the left of Grandpa's reclining chair.

          The clock worked to perfection. It would chime the appropriate number of times on the hour and it immediately became my grandfather's prize possession. I remember him talking about it when I was a teen, and thinking that I really didn't get his infatuation with it at all. It just looked like an ordinary clock to me.

It was hardly ordinary.

          My grandfather became ill during my senior year of college. He was suffering from both lung and prostate cancer. A few months before he became gravely ill, the clock stopped working. It remained on the wall silently, with the pendulum no longer swaying from side to side. With him being so sick, my grandmother had higher priorities than taking a clock in for repair.

          In the spring of 1990, with his wife of 55 years and his 45 year old son (my father) at his bedside, John passed away at Copley Memorial Hospital in Aurora. From the day of his birth in 1911 to the day of his passing 78+ years later, he would reside in my hometown. His loss was felt by his family, friends, and the community as a whole.

          The time of his passing occurred at approximately 10:30 p.m. After his death, there was paperwork to be taken care of and arrangements to be made and as a result, my father and grandmother did not arrive back at my grandparents' home until shortly after midnight. Dad was going to spend the night at his mother's house so she wouldn't be alone.

          When they entered the empty home, they heard a bonging sound coming from the living room. The pendulum was now swinging. The clock's hands were stuck at midnight, yet the bongs repeated far more than the usual dozen times. His loved ones stood, stared, and listened.

Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong.

          Finally, my Dad walked over and adjusted the hands to the proper time.

          When one o'clock arrived, the clock bonged once and then went silent. The hands once again began their minute by minute journey around the face, the pendulum swinging to and fro in normal rhythm. The clock had returned to normal functionality.

          The clock broke down again shortly after his death. My uncle asked if he could have it. It was removed from the wall. No word on if he had it repaired or simply let it be and stored it as a keepsake.

The streets of heaven are filled with the souls of our loved ones.

On the evening of April 22nd, 1990, John Burghardt let us all know that he was now among them.