I’m not sure what triggered it, but the other day I had this intense longing to go to my Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The arrival into their driveway, the few steps you take up to the doorway, then after a good, loud knock (Grandpa definitely has some hearing problems), Grandma would greet us at the door with a huge smile across her face and wide open arms to hug each of us. One, two, three, four girls… then Mom and Dad.
No doubt on this visit, like all the others, Grandma would have her apron on, covered in flour after just finishing the pie crust for chocolate pudding pie, my personal favorite.
The smell of Grandma and Grandpa’s house isn’t one you can replicate in a tiny candle called “Grandpa and Grandma’s house”, but if they did make a candle that smelled like their house, I most surely would have it.
The smells of dinner in the oven, pies baking, dusty books in the library, a collection of old coats from the 80’s in the closet, leather cowboy boots, laundry detergent, the dog and of course Grandpa’s aftershave and Grandma’s “Moonlit Path” lotion from Bath and Body Works. All those smells together just make your troubles melt away as you step in the door.
Of course like any other visit, my sisters and I would either be fighting over who would use the computer, who would first play the keyboard or who would swing on the swing set built by my Grandpa outside.
Before too long, Mom gave us a look that so clearly communicated: “Remember to ask Grandma if she needs any help… OR ELSE!” and of course as the oldest, and most responsible, I was the only one to actually help. But, whatever, I never minded because it usually meant I could sneak a little sample of dessert while no one was looking.
Dinners were memorable, and of course better than any weeknight meal we might have at home. Grandpa always piled his food so high, and we could bet he would ask someone to “toss a roll” at some point during dinner. So of course, we did. Literally.
Peace. Their home with all the smells, sounds, sights and memories makes me feel at peace, it still does. Even today, seven years since my Grandfather’s death and almost almost three years since my Grandma’s death.
I can think of that home and be instantly transported to those treasured moments.
I miss them. A lot.
Now, the home is unoccupied, owned by the bank. I think.
One day I hope it will be filled with the laughter that so filled our family dinners, the tears that often streamed down my face when I sat in Grandpa’s empty chair needing advice from my Grandma and joy that will impact a new generation.
Nothing is meaningless.
Nothing is lost.
Hope remains.
I can’t wait to see Grandpa and Grandma again one day. This time, in our TRUE home.
somehow beautiful 