I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. An awful lot of life changing events have happened upon me this year. The most recent being the death of my grandmother who I had cared for on and off for the past 21 years since she had her stroke.

She had fought a long and hard battle of paralysis, being unable to speak, and losing her ability to write since the stroke. These past 4-5 years I had been taking care of her intently along with my brother in the old farmhouse we share and grew up in. It was a very unconventional upbringing with both of my paternal grandparents, parents, 4 children, and an uncle all living under the same roof. Our cousins were just a mile down the road. We raised beef cattle and dairy cows, chickens, occassionally pigs, planted huge gardens every year and the adults worked regular jobs besides. The farming was to supplement what we would not otherwise have been able to afford as we did not have the means to make a living from it.

Every year, shortly after school would start in the fall, my grandparents would slaughter a cow raised specifically for that purpose. I learned to dread that time of year because we were already unconventional, so many of us living in a big old brick house. There were still some people who farmed in the neighborhood but the numbers were dwindling. Riding the school bus home every night I'd sit on the left hand side as we drew closer to home. I'd look intently out the window to the oak tree in the front yard just off the road near the mailbox. Even though some folks around still raised beef cattle, no one slaughtered like my grandparents. Every afternoon I looked to see if this was the day. And eventually it would be and I'd be mortified. From a distance I could see a large figure hanging from the lowest branch of the oak tree. As we drew closer it would take shape. Hoisted into the tree by the spreadeagle hindquarters the carcass would be hanging upside down. Sometimes already skinned, innards in a large heap on the ground, my grandparents both standing there, covered in cows blood, knives drawn, waving as the bus came to a stop, air brakes hissing and door opening. I couldn't hide and I had to get off the bus after all I was home. I looked at no one as I rushed out the door, bangs hanging over eyes intent on the rubber laiden aisle. If a semi-truck had come barrelling my way I never would have noticed. Hell, I might have welcomed it's impact at that point.

Honestly, I'd give anything to do that all again. Relive those moments just to see my grandparents, my dad, my uncle, all together with family working hard to makes ends meet. It wasn't such a bad thing as I recall it. I can't help but wonder if those days are passed or if similaar days will cycle by again.

My grandmother passed about two months ago. I'm still dealing with the loss. I'm not sure these are things you should just get over and move on though. Of course one doesn't want to dwell to the point that one is incapacitated by it, but reverence and memory are good things.