Recently, my sister sent me a link to a real-estate listing. Because neither one of us is house hunting, I was curious. I clicked on it and saw a picture of a small white house with black shutters sitting between a field and a pond. Immediately, I recognized it as the ranch that my paternal grandparents lived in when we were growing up.
My grandparents have been gone for many years. I hadn’t seen it since I was a teenager and my Granny was in the kitchen and my Pa was sick in bed.
Each photo in the gallery brought with it memories I didn’t even know I still had: picking apart cattails by the pond, the smell of fish food in a container by the dock, the sound of our station-wagon tires turning onto the gravel driveway from Highway E…
By the time I clicked to the last photo, tears were rolling down my cheeks and I couldn’t speak. I wasn’t exactly sad, but I wasn’t happy either … sometimes tears are mysterious. Continue reading →