They tell you to never get attached to material things, but some items are hard to think of ever letting go. For the last few weeks, my mind has been constantly thinking of my grandfather and my childhood with him. There’s a reason memories stay in your brain, right? I figured I finally needed to write them out before they disappear. The material item on my mind hasn’t been a simple piece of jewelry or clothing, but a house. The house that felt like my second home growing up and one of my most cherished places.

I was lucky enough to grow up next door to my grandfather, so I usually didn’t go a day without seeing him, so his home will always be special to me. My earliest memories revolve around there, like back when he still had hunting dogs in the back yard and a worm bed for us to use when we went fishing behind the field. That home means the world to me because it’s full of my childhood memories and love.

That house is coming home from school and walking through our connecting trail to go sit on the trampoline while I ate my Mr. P’s pizza and cookies before my parents got home; looking back now, I’m trying to figure out how I never threw up afterwards since I would jump for an hour trying to master a flip. It’s being happy when all of his flowers would bloom throughout the yard in the Spring in seas of purple, red, pink, and white. It’s climbing the giant Magnolia tree and having my own branch, until it was cut down after the back to back hurricanes. It’s sitting on the concrete, tile patio on the side of the house eating kumquats and blackberries. It’s playing hide and seek by prying open the garage side door where no one could discover me or playing popcorn on the trampoline with my older cousins.     

That house is my PawPaw being my emergency contact in grade school when I was sick and spending the afternoon with him. Whether it was sitting at the old school desk in the living room to play on the typewriter, being enamored by all the random trinkets on the bookshelves or soup being made when I had the stomach flu and him making sure I was okay. It’s sitting in the pink bathroom after busting up my knees and shoulder at school and learning that peroxide bubbles and burns, before adding Neosporin on the other wounds; and getting an expired Dr. Pepper to make me feel better. I still have those scars 22 years later and it’s a day I’ll never forget.

That house is watching him fry fish up in the driveway and getting first tastes. It’s him teaching me how to make his potato soup on a cold night in December. It’s me leaving handmade cards on his windowsill and collecting the newspaper when he was done reading them. It’s hanging out there with him during the hurricanes to stay safe. It’s sitting in the living room talking with him on the sunken couch and seeing how proud he was when I showed him my acceptance letter to MSU.

That house is my family seeing each other on Christmas and gathering around the tree to find our ornaments that had never moved from their spot in 32 years and looking to see where our present was. It was walking in seeing everyone smiling and laughing, with the smell of his barbeque wafting through the kitchen, the gas heater turned on too high, classic Christmas movies playing in the living room like A Christmas Story and weaving through the kitchen to talk to family or sneaking a snack before dinner was served.

Then I wonder how truly I do miss being in that home and it’s true I do, but I think it’s because I miss you. 

I miss hearing you call me “Kayler”. I miss being your deer jerky tester and making sure it wasn’t gator like that one time (it’s the mustard yellow lines that give it away-if you wanted to know) and giving the seal of approval for others to get a bag. I miss seeing your scruffy face coming to get the newspaper when I’d wait on the bus in the mornings and your wave to me. I miss you bringing random goodies to my dog or cats, and I know you would have loved Ellie; I also know where my dad gets this trait from. I miss the phone calls I’d get from you when I was away at college or that you’d wait for me to call you and talk to me about everything going on to check on me; I miss coming home for my college breaks and you staying up to see dad and I. I miss hearing you be excited about the eagle cam or seeing your face light up when the grandkids tried to play the mini violin placed atop the entertainment center at Christmas. 

I remember being told as a kid that before Nana passed, y’all were thinking of moving to the land in Munson to live and I was visibly upset by this news. Even then, I couldn’t imagine you not living next door to me.

I used to think I would never lose you in my life and you had a scare one time when I was in high school, I remember I hid my fear from everyone. Your last year, I knew you would be leaving but I never wanted to accept it because you were a fighter and you loved life so much; although I know it got to be too much in the end. I remember dad calling me at work to say you passed and I held back my tears until I saw you at the hospital because I didn’t want to believe it. I’ve never been an affectionate person, but when I hugged my aunt and stepmom, I never wanted to let go because I couldn’t stop the tears and you know, “Cobb’s don’t cry”. You looked so peaceful though and I know you left on your own terms, but I miss you every single day. I can be driving home or getting ready in the morning and think of something random about you, then the tears appear. 

Yes, I love your home and all of the happy recollections there with you and the family, but I wish with every fiber of my body you were here and next door still at PawPaw’s house.