My Grandmother's House, Repost

Some of you may recall when I posted this several months ago. Since then, my grandmother, Annie J. Gniadek, has passed away. I've rewritten this and was asked to speak at her memorial service last week. I like how this was reworked and thought I would share it again.

“Today my brother and I visited my grandmother’s house. A flood of memories overtook us immediately upon opening the door. The quaint little Cape used to be full of knick-knacks, old-fashioned furniture and quilts, and always the smell of something delicious cooking in the oven. But sadly the smell of home cooked meals and love have faded away with time and loneliness, and were replaced with a stale, musty scent with just a hint of a lonely woman's tears.

Every sound, every smell instantly brought me back to my childhood. The sound the storm door makes when you open it, the creak of the floorboards as you step into the kitchen, the smell of the home itself that hasn't faded in thirty years. It was like just yesterday we were all there visiting on summer vacation, coloring on the porch floor, drinking rainbow sherbet ice cream floats she made us in the backyard grass, and drawing in the driveway with sidewalk chalk. We remember her apple pie, walks down the canal, "cout", and...her chicken sandwiches.

A very large part of me felt sad. I missed it. It just amazes me how fast the time goes...and how quickly the little house—that was once filled with life and family—became abandoned, lonely, and sad. My brother and I pawed through items...old dishes, tools, my grandmother's ceramics that haven't moved from the carved, wooden shelves in thirty years. My grandfather's tool bench in the basement sill had his handwriting on the walls. There were old toys that were right where we left them...which seemed like just yesterday.

As we wandered in the backyard, we couldn't believe how small it seemed. When we would run out the back door and into the yard, it seemed so much bigger to us then. It seemed like we ran for miles from the back of the house all the way to the fence. The backyard used to be overflowing with flowers, plants, and vegetables, huge sunflowers that seemed tall enough to kiss the sun, birdfeeders that were always full, and a large garden that my uncle used to tend. Walking in that garden seemed to go on forever. It was like a dense jungle one could easily get lost in. I remember walking through that garden, holding onto my uncle's rear end pockets, afraid yet mesmerized.

Now all that remains is one, single maple tree; a young tree that symbolizes the birth of new life that the house would see again one day. It was difficult to accept that none of us would be coming back here to live or visit again. My grandmother's days for caring for others are gone. And while the home is still filled with spirits of my grandparents, my father and uncle, my brother and I, and our cousins, it's also filled with the ghosts of what seems like lifetimes past. Regardless of where I go, or where I end up, it will always and forever be my grandmother's house."

Annie was always a nurturer. She spent her life caring for my grandfather, her two boys, her grandchildren, and sick family members. My uncle put it perfect just the other day…that God ran out of people for her to care for. And I think I speak for all the grandchildren when I say that missing our grandmother...and her chicken sandwiches...is an understatement. Unlike the scents from her home, or the color of the wooden tulips that still sit in her windows, our memories of her will never fade.

Image credit: © David Coleman | Dreamstime.com

© Content written and owned by J.H. Language Solutions. Usage by written permission only.