I had a chance to run this morning. I like to run on Thanksgiving. Mostly because it is one of the few chances I get to run at my favorite running spot. But today was different. There were no cows mooing in the distance, no plowed cornfields to my right, no river running next to me, no train tracks to cross. Today there was just pavement. It was hard. Today is the first Thanksgiving of a new tradition. One that is bittersweet. You see we have gone to my Grandma's house every year for Thanksgiving for as long as I can remember. But not this year. It will never be the same.
The other day I was reading this post from Mabel's House and I sobbed. I could recall the digression from beautiful fluid handwriting to scratchy scrawl in my own Grandma. I see it in my Grandpa too. And my heart just aches from the loss.
I will leave you with happy memories of time spent at my Grandma's house. Good news is my parents are buying it as their second home. So more memories will be made there, sadly they will not include my Grandma, at least not in the physical form. But she will always be there in spirit.