Grandma's House

My mom lived in the same house for over 50 years. My grandpa bought the house when it was brand new. It was a three bedroom bungalow in Wyandotte. He was a smart man and bought a double wide driveway (the only one in about the whole neighborhood). He talked the cement guy into pouring his extra cement into a patio in the backyard. My mom would tell me stories about how grandpa would take care of the house. My Dad and Grandpa built a family room edition on the back when I was about 2.

It was a special house.

I have fond memories of that house. I remember how the hallway floor boards squeaked when you walked on them. I remember laying on the living room floor reading books in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. I remember the woodsy smell of the attic. I remember sitting on the porch drinking ice tea watching my children play. I remember all the garage sales we had and the parties and dinners.

My Mom and Dad sold that house three years ago. I still miss going there. When they first moved I would drive by it and say to the girls, "There's Grandma and Papa's old house." I didn't want them to forget. But what I really didn't want them to forget was their Grandparents. They were such a big part of their lives and I knew that would change if they were far away. Once in awhile we will be driving through Wyandotte and one of the older girls will pipe up and say hey this is where Grandma used to live. They still remember.

I may miss the house, but I miss my parents more. Sometime I'll see an older gentleman riding his bike and I still check to see if it my Dad. And then I remember he's in Florida riding his bike there.

Mom and Dad have a new house now. We have new memories there. Different memories. Warm, sunny days and fun at the beach. Vacation memories.

Same Grandma and Papa, but in a different house.