Welcome Home

This morning I am tired. I spent the day helping my parents clean out their house. Decades of memories. Decades of "stuff". Everything has a memory. Everything has a story. It is a gift to clean out a house with your elderly parents. We did it with a smile on our face and not a tear in our eyes. It was a true blessing. We sorted through many items, some so old that they are now classified as antiques. We moved furniture from floor to floor and my back is stiff and sore. Of all of the items we took home to sort for sale, there was one that was priceless. It is a poster sized picture of my grandfather on his wedding day all dressed in a tuxedo and top hat. He must have been about 22 years old. He was so handsome. I had no idea that pictures were made this size, in 1918, on a thick poster type of paper. I stared into his eyes and scrutinized every line of his face to see a resemblance to me or my children. He has our light blue eyes and there is a familiarity in his face that just feels right. When I took the picture out of my parents house I said, "Grandpa, we're going home". When he arrived in my house, I covered him with Lucite so the picture would not chip or disintegrate. I slipped it under my bed for safe keeping as there is nowhere to hang it. I am happy that Grandpa is now living with me.