After a twelve-hour drive with six other members of my family, the sight of that big mint green house was like heaven. It meant sleeping in a basement bedroom with the rose print carpet. The one with the water pipes that ran across the ceiling that we liked to hang from… (it’s a good thing we weren’t any heavier). It meant rhubarb juice, gladiolas, and fresh-picked raspberries from the garden in the backyard that seemed to go on for forever. It meant trips to the Ken’s candy store for Smarties… which are really m&m’s… those silly Canadians! It meant games of Scrabble, UNO, and marbles. It meant stories about a car in the ditch on a wedding day and a school boy jumping from the schoolhouse window vowing never to go back.
Looking at pictures of that house, my mind floods with the memories. Memories that all include a little old man who was perhaps a little too thin and a smiling round-faced woman who was maybe a little too full around the middle. My Grandpa and Grandma. The man who flew a helicopter from Canada to Texas the day I was born. An occasion I regretfully do not remember, but still my favorite to tell about.
The house is empty now. Empty not only of the typewriter parts, bottles of pickled beets, and collection of salt and pepper shakers. It’s empty of the two people who gave it life. Grandma has been gone just over eight years. Grandpa was never complete without her. As saddened as I am that my own children will never enter that house and create the same memories I look back on with such fondness, I am truly elated for him. He fought the good fight and won! He was able to return to the loving arms of his eternal companion to continue on their journey together.
I will miss the words of wisdom typed on index cards tucked in with your letters, the whispered “I love yous,” visiting your big mint green house… Grandpa, I will miss YOU!
