Grandma's House. If you would have told me when I was a kid that one day I would lose all of that joy and adventure, I wouldn't have believed you. It just didn't seem possible that life as I knew it would change. But change it did, dramatically.
I was in my first year of college away from home when the telephone rang. The memory is so fresh. It was my father on the other end of the phone. Through choked up tears He broke the news. "Grandma is gone."
Grandma was the closest person to me to die. She had lost control of her car down an old country highway not three miles from her home, my personal paradise. The news was devastating.
Looking back now, I realize I lost more than a grandmother that day. I lost access to my boyhood proving grounds. Not long after the funeral, all of her possessions were sorted through and the home was sold. Please understand, that land was more than just a piece of real estate. It was an intricate part of my masculine journey. It was the only place in my little world where I felt most alive. Able to be my truest self there, it was my sanctuary, my holy ground.
Just like that, it was all gone, torn away. Disbelief set in, as for most people when they suffer significant losses and devastating disappointments. Divorcees, amputees, and surviving spouses know what I'm talking about. At the moment, our hearts reject the reality. Again the secret to our hearts rise to the surface. This is not the life we want.
Even more devastating than Grandma's death is the dilemma that I, like so many others, got use to my loss. We come to a point where we embrace the idea that this really is the way things are supposed to be. As a result, we struggle with the truth that we were not made for this.
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