In a House of memories

October 18, 2009
By Anonymous

Last December in a house of memories I had to say goodbye. I didn’t have to clean out the house where my grand-parents lived for a big part of their lives, but I did have to let go. I had to let go of the dream of ever seeing them again. Of ever holding their hands, of going with my grand-father to the ‘bica’ where he always bought me something. Of ever going flower picking with my grand-mother, of ever going to the bread truck to buy bread as my grand-mother kept watch from the window. Yes my grand-father died when I was nine but while that house was still how he left it he was still in some part alive. Yes my grand-mother had Alzheimer’s and so she spent even less time in that house but while it was kept filled she was still also alive. In that house they were still alive. At first the thought of that house hurt me because I knew how empty it was but saying goodbye was even more painful. My grand-parents always wanted me and my mom to move back to Portugal. In that house of memories I was happy because I knew that we would come back. Sadly going back will not be the way I pictured it. My grand-parents won’t be there at the airport with open arms waiting for us. Of course I miss them. I will miss them at graduation, when I start college, when I have my first boyfriend, when I get my own place, when I get married. I don’t have them to go to when I get my heart broken or just need some advice. I will have to go to my aunt and her husband who I love but they are not my grand-parents. They are someone else’s grand-parents. My grand-parents are Anthony and Lilian. Two people I will never forget. When my little cousin is older I will tell her about them. The truth is she is the one with no grand-parents. I have had the pleasure of knowing most of mine, and I still have one grand-mother. My little cousin and all of us show that our grand-parents aren’t truly dead. They live in each one of us.

So in a house of memories last December my uncle found me a whole bag of wool my grand-mother never used. So I took it with me and decided to make something out of it.

The author's comments:
The names of my grand-parents have been changed for privacy reasons.
I wrote this peace for my last creative writing class. We started by all bringing an object. We told the class why it was important to us and in the end our articles weren't about our objects but extensive stories behind them.

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