The Dirt Road

I went to Pa’s house this weekend. It was hard for my mom, and that’s why I went-- I knew it would be…but what I had forgotten to think about was how strange and hard it was going to be for me too. We walked in and it looked the same. It was like walking into a time capsule. Everything was still in the same place it was at Christmas time. The house was still decorated for Christmas, and it still smelled like him…but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t there. We went and picked blueberries and when it was time to go inside…I thought he’d be sitting there waiting on us to come back. It felt like all the air had left the room every time I realized that he wasn’t going to be there. I’d wake up in the morning and wait for him to shuffle down the hall way with his oxygen dragging, but it never happened. We went by his grave and I talked to him and Grannyma. It was so sad…but I assured them that I was taking care of mama and that we both missed them a lot. But you know what the strangest part about the whole weekend was? How hard it was to leave. It’s weird, because even though he’s not there, it’s still just as hard to leave that house as it was growing up. There’s something about that dirt road. There always has been…and there always will be. It's home. It’s a part of me, and that, well…that will never change.