OTTAWAY

I miss that house. 
It comes as a surprise considering I don't equate myself with someone that feels an attachment to possessions.  I'm sure everyone has debated over the list of items they would grab if faced with a fire and only a few seconds to spare, but I've always concluded that if I'm out (and all other living creatures in the house...other than fish) then I don't really care about the stuff. 
Shortly after nana passed away and we were uncomfortably trying to decide whether the lamp or coffee table would best help us cope with the passing of our grandparents, I realized I didn't feel them in any of it.  Even items I watched my nana spend hours meticulously making didn't appeal to me.  I didn't need stuff to remind me of them because they were cemented permanently in my mind.  With no effort I could feel her warm, soft hands in mine, I could still smell his aftershave in the mornings...two people I was confident I would never forget.
But time passes and despite our best efforts memories fade.  Regret creeps in that I didn't take the lamp, the coffee table...anything to help the image of them stay clear.  Instead I'm left longing for a day in that house, curled up on the pink carpet and surrounded by thoughts of them.  I want to crawl into bed with my favorite Charlie Brown pillow and know that after I fall asleep my papa will be sitting on the end of my bed praying for me.  I want to be in the kitchen with my nana laughing until my sides hurt and tears are streaming down my face. 
I want them to hold me and tell me how proud they are of me. 
I want to be back in that house.