In my grandma's house there is a felt-painted sign that says this. It's hung in the bathroom forever, along with the poem "I shall never pass this way again." I have always found both to be especially true, especially thought-provoking, and especially bittersweet.
My grandma has been living in a memory care facility for about the last year. She just couldn't live on her own anymore, as her mind has been attacked with a disease I would put on the very bottom of the list of "diseases that would be okay to have." Correction, it doesn't make the list of "okay" diseases, even if there was one.
For my whole rememberable life, this house was a place of refuge, the only place of refuge that was almost equal to that of my own home where I grew up. You know that feeling of "coming home." This house had that feeling. From the immaculately clean garage in which I would have gladly eaten a sandwich off the floor, to the entry way that smelled of...oh, I'm not sure, laundry detergent, my grandpa's aftershave, clean coats and boots in the closet? Anytime I smell anything even similar I am instantly transported back.
My sister and I were treated to hours of grandma-and-grandpa-time bliss. Here you see a couple mulleted children having a fun meal at Grandma's. I am the younger, less-mulleted one. I unfortunately don't remember many of her signature dishes, as my grandpa's diet was very restricted for many years, but I always begged for her mac-and-cheese. Creamy Velveeta, milk, and "wheel" pasta were the best!
As we got older, Grandpa began an epic search for a horse. Horse after horse would come visit their place on a trial basis, only to be sent back because of some quirk that could have proven detrimental to our safety. In 1995 I got a note from my grandpa for Christmas, along with a horse halter, saying that he promised me a horse in 1996. Probably my best, most memorable Christmas present ever. I still have both the halter and the note, although my friend Yeller passed away in 2003. Here's a picture of me on "Bud," one of the trial horses who turned out to buck when you cinched him up. No go!
Another rare treat at Grandma and Grandpa's was the four-wheeler. In the winter or summer, we always had a great time on that thing, Grandpa carefully showing us the ropes.
I can't even begin to chronicle the other fun times I've had with my grandparents over the years. Trips in their camper or motorhome, visits to my parents', Christmases, birthdays, and nearly every school program or musical gig that I ever had, they were there.
I remember having the knowledge that Grandma and Grandpa wouldn't be around forever. Morbid, I know, but a reality that was a very hard pill for a kid to swallow, as they faced ever-increasing health problems and the uncertainty of how long they (Grandpa, especially) would be healthy. I remember so many nights I'd go to sleep in their spare room, feeling a lump building in my throat as my grandma would call out, "Are you warm enough?" or some such thing. I have to treasure this, I always thought. I shall only pass this way once. I would breathe in the scent of the sheets on my bed, always so fresh no matter how long it had been since I had last stayed, and listen for my grandpa's snoring. Or I would kick my grandpa out of bed altogether and snuggle up, talking to my grandma late into the night.
My grandpa passed away in 2008, in his sleep, in his own home. I couldn't ask for anything better for him or hopefully for myself someday, but that only put a bittersweet coating on our family's hurt. I knew that things would continue to change--and that kind of change is never fun!
Today we moved my grandma into a more-skilled memory care facility. There were a lot of tears shed by all of us. Sweet baby Matthias was a pleasant distraction, but it was so hard to leave Grandma there.
I was fortunate enough to get to stay at her house the night before, something I had been looking forward to for oh-so-long. You see, at least for me, just being in that house helped me remember. It made those days closer. Somehow, even though she wasn't there, the house was still fresh, still smelled the same, and it was a comfort. This time I snuck away for a nap and found myself crying once again for the way things were, feeling so sad for my grandma who can't be in her beautiful home anymore, happy for my grandpa in heaven, happy for the memories, but longing for a rewind button. Of anything, it reminded me, "don't blink."
I borrowed the pictures from my grandma's house so I could try to show a glimpse of the memories. The picture below was taken when I was about 3, but it captures my grandparents in a way I love to remember them.
