Each time I returned to my grandparents’ home, I felt like I needed an arsenal of anxiety medications to get me through the feelings of emptiness, sadness and yearning for what used to be.
My grandmother’s home was exactly as she left it, except there was a layer of dust covering all the memories. My grandfather could be found sitting in this “memorial” he created over the years, mourning the loss of his best friend, the happiest times in his life and some of the happiest times in all our lives.
Read Full Article »