I have never been

to Montana, but

my grandmother was there

at some point,

or so my uncle says.

My father spoke

of my mother's parents today,

of how I had missed seeing them

at this point

that his own parents are now at,

where "there are things they can do

and things they can't do."

My mother now lives

in the house she grew up in,

and although it's been

repainted, retiled, refurnished,

my grandparents' presence

is still there.

More and more I can see

how I missed out

on opportunities to know them

as the people they really were,

but I had been too young

to understand how old

age was nothing

to fear.

I could have learned

a lot more

from them.

After listening to my father

chastise my sister's frivolities,

I hesitate

to tell him I've found love

of my very own.

I want him to be happy

with my choice

of happiness.

I can only think

of how I wish I could see

my grandparents smiling, proud.

I wonder

if my grandmother ever found something

in that vast emptyness,

if it ever called to her,

if she ever called it

home.

Some things

I may never know.

TMK 17july2008