I went over to my grandparents' house to drop off their weekly supply of orange juice, Swiss Cake Rolls, and Lebanon bologna and sat down next to my grandmother at the kitchen table.
I told her about my concerns. I was nervous. I was scared. I didn't know what to expect. She looked at me and simply replied, "What are you so afraid of? They can't shoot you."
Her comment was so disarming that I couldn't help but laugh. She was right. Really, what did I have to lose?
The table still sits in the same spot, flanked by rays of sunshine that come streaming through the windows every morning around 8 a.m. It has stayed the same, even though both of my grandparents have passed away and Mike and I have taken over their rightful spots at the table.
It's amazing how grief can just sit on your heart. Your everyday life goes on, but then something really exciting or really awful happens and you find yourself missing those people who always sat in your mental cheering section. The people who rooted for you unconditionally and understood your heart, even when you didn't, and who knew what to say to you right when you needed it.
Sometimes I still find myself looking for clues in this house. I want to find reminders of who they were or signs of how they might want me to handle the situations that I'm facing. I want to be able to sit down at the table again and have my grandmother set me straight.
For the moment, I guess I'll just have to settle for the memories.