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3:28 p.m. - Saturday, Sept. 29, 2007
Grandpa's house
Highway 169 and Seebright road, southwest corner lay Grandpa and Grandma's farm house, a yellow-brick century home. Grandma was born in 1866, Margaret McMillen and Grandpa 1878, Fred Smith. They were quite old when they adopted my mother and changed her name to Donelda June, no longer to be Alice Beuker.

Mom was happy there as was I. She especially loved grandpa who thought she, even with her wild ways, could do no wrong. How could he. She was like a rescued kitten left in the rain, wounded when he chose her to be his own. He wanted to wipe her tears and hold her so tight that she wouldn't hurt again...as though he could...as though that were possible. No wonder she loved him so deeply all her life.

Grandma was quite a bit older and somewhat of a perfectionist, keeping the modest dwelling spotless, raising flowers for the florist. Grandpa let mother be free.

I went back to the farm about six or seven years ago and stared at it from the road in front where the Judds lived across the street. The barn was in ruins. All that remains are the stones that formed the foundation. This place was my foundation. I played in the barn, sliding down the hay among the animals. The swing was so high and when I jumped the hay broke my fall. Memories today matched by a rising joy convince me that times were good, the best.

The grass is long and the house rented to someone who obviously has no pride in its upkeep. Otherwise it looks the same. A long driveway where gladiolas grew and a fence now stands at dizzying angles. In my mind, and in my heart it is the same. I'm temped to knock on the door and ask if I could purchase it in a mad attempt to regain those good, good times. Yet, that is past, alive now only in reverie.

Across the street is the cemetary where once Grandpa donated the land. On the front row is a tombstone, grandma, grandpa and now mom lay beneath it. Spiritual beings all three, their earthly garments cast off. Why do I look here? They are gone and like the wind and I cannot see them anymore. My heart is not heavy. I miss them. What gifts they have given me. What blessings I must share. Thank you for being my family.

 

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