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Here is Gone

There is something about my great-grandmothers house.  As I sit stretched out on the floor, I listen to wind blowing on the chimes outside, and it continues to the leaves creating a symphony of serenity.  My eyes drift across the house, stopping here and there thinking about the memories. I see a picture of my great-grandfather. My mind wonders.


Pap had two loves: my great-grandmother and his yard.  His yard was something to marvel at. It graced the pages of newspapers: the yard of the month. When I was a kid I used to walk out the back porch and dig my bare toes into the cool St. Augustine grass.    I’ll never forget the memories there. 


            My great-grandmother is the best cook in the world. Dinner always had fresh vegetables from the garden.  I used to sit on the kitchen floor and farm. I had these toy tractors I always got when I went with my Granddad to the John Deere House, so I acquired new machinery all the time.  The kitchen place mats were my fields, and I plowed, sewed, sprayed, and harvested.  I had a dairy too, and kept it well stocked with plastic hay bales.  My farming business was so big it even had a crop duster fashioned from legos Pap cashed in from Cherrio boxes. 


            Pap died a few years back. My great-grandmother is now a widow. She still gets up every morning and cooks herself breakfast, cleans the house the same day of the week,  not a piece of furniture has moved.  She hasn’t let go. She can’t let go. The pictures of their trips to Hawaii, Yellowstone, Opery Land, always together, still grace the house. 


The flower beds are all over-grown with weeds, and the grass is dying.  The garden doesn’t exist anymore.  His recliner remains empty. I remember him so well. How he loved her, and how he brought the family together.  But as I look at my great-grandmothers eyes, I see the loneliness. She knows she is in the evening of her time here.  And just as with the dying grass I am reminded of the brevity of my own life.


I miss my childhood. I miss eating cereal with my great-granddad.As I stand up to leave, and give her a hug, and over in the corner, all by itself, is a picture of my mother. The beautiful 22 year old doesn’t seem like she should be my mom, but that’s the only face I’ve ever know, forever young.


Truth is, I am scared. I am scared to embark on the “great” journey.  I don’t know where I am going anymore.  There is some hopelessness I feel, like what’s going to happen after all this is gone with the rest of my memories.  I know, better than most, that never again will I walk off that porch and feel that grass on my feet, it died with my great-grandfather.

7 Responses to “Here is Gone”

  1. man i have no idea what to do with my life either cuz, so just hang in there things will work out. ttyl.

  2. and yet again impressed by your writing…..can i just say……i know whatcha mean?

  3. so many things i could say here about my own experiences but i don’t want to take away from yours.

  4. NonameKelly says:

    i love you, ty.

    even if it has taken you this long to give me your new xanga.

    slutface.

  5. Anonymous says:

    i liked that…you have a real talent for sincerity, and I dont mean with your writing, your a sincere person and that is an honourable quality…your a good guy

  6. Wow.  That was so candid, and so sincere.  Lovely.

    And truth.  A rarity.

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