Grace - Welcome Home Oct 01 '10    Write an essay on this topic. Tweet Popular Products in Books Rick Bragg - Somebody Told Me: The Newspaper Stories of Rick Bragg From $6 260 Drum Machine Patterns From $8 The Bottom Line My series Grace continues My grandmother passed away last night. She was ninety, she was ready to go, and what needed to be said had been said.  I wrote this piece a couple weeks ago, and my mother read it to her in her hospital bed.  My grandmother smiled at the memories... Grandma’s house is a special place. Grandma’s house is a long way from my house.  When are we getting there?  I have to go to the – hey, I see the car and the red walkways!  Grandma! Grandma’s house is where the beads are – just out of reach, but I’ll stretch my little hand up anyway to touch them, unaware of the photograph being taken behind me.  Grandma’s house is where I can ride my tricycle in the backyard and not have to remember to stay out of the street. Grandma’s house is where the garden grows, and Grandma saves me from big nasty spiders.  She picked one up and threw it over the fence! Grandma’s house is where food falls to the ground from trees, rich, red and ripe, easy to grab in my grubby hands. Grandma’s house is where there is a sink in the garage, faded and gray, a gritty grey hulk near the door into the kitchen.  What is “pumice”?  It feels itchy. Grandma’s house is the dock for the Mighty Mo.  Grandpa built the Missouri, majestic and stern, guns splayed towards the skies, defiant and dangerous. Grandma’s house is where everyone visits together.   All the family likes to go there, and sometimes my friend Kevin will come play with me. Grandma’s house is where they have birthdays and presents and cakes and Easter rabbit cookies. Grandma’s house is where they let you make a mess of your food AND your face as long as you are sitting beneath the pergola… Grandma’s house is where glass of many shapes, many sizes gleams and glows, red and blue, green and gold. Grandma’s house is where the big leather chair sits and I can curl up inside its huge arms to read a Richard Scary book.  Someday, I might try the books on the shelves above me. I don’t remember leaving tonight, but I think I remember her kiss on my cheek as I was carried out the door.  Grandma’s house is a special place… This house is special.  These times are special.  Yet, there is more… Grandma’s house is farther away now; a longer and more exquisite drive along the beginnings of California’s craggy northern coastline. Grandma’s house is where you brave the ocean chill of a foggy October morning and drive into the eucalyptus forests of Point Reyes for a birthday hot dog barbecue. Grandma’s house is near the hillside church amphitheater where you hear Randy Stonehill for the first time and you suddenly realize that you must learn all the words to Lung Cancer.  Grandma’s house is near the bay where the baby tiger sharks and the manta ray swim around your feet, all trapped behind the sandbar revealed by the receding tide. Grandma’s house is where Grandpa begins to tell you of his life in the Navy, of his ships and the sea, stories spoken and unspoken in the lines of his face. Grandma’s house is where you sit in the big leather chair with a Reader’s Digest collection of abridged novels and marvel at the colors of a summer’s evening sky, blooming on the hills and trees, blues and greens fade into red and gold. I remember those days and nights.  And I remember the love and the care that infused that house with precious warmth.  Grandma’s house is a special place… This house is special.  These times are special.  Yet, there is more… Grandma’s house is nearer now, wrapped close with evergreens and rolling hills, falling down the Santa Cruz Highway towards another bright California bay. Grandma’s house is where thanksgiving is more than just a holiday. Grandma’s house is where we raise our voices together in thanks for those who have gone before, who pledged their very lives to see that we might live in peace. Grandma’s house is where the portraits hang, Lawrence and Peter and John.  Grandma’s house is where the big chair stands truly empty for the first time, the medals now in memoriam.   I sang for him once.   This house is special.  These times are special.  Today, there is yet one more… Grandma’s house stands open.  The winds breathe softly through the doors and windows, a fresh and vital wind, a life-giving wind Grandma’s house is where the light bends and blends and blazes with the hues of a million million stars Grandma’s house echoes with the whisper of her best friend, her lover, her savior her Lord, the familiar voice resonating deep, deep, deep in her soul come to me and I will give you rest come to me and find life and freedom like you have never known come to me and be my love forever and forever and forever for I love you I love you I love you Grandma doesn’t remember the moment she first left this place a lifetime ago yet the fragrant familiar kiss on her cheek tells her "Welcome home" Andrew September 17, 2010 The Grace Series Grace A memorial to one man's strength, and his gift of grace... Grace - the gift of life Grace - a call interrupted Grace - a life sentence Grace at twelve

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