When it comes to me tearing up and getting all melancholy about the death of my grandparents, it isn’t the “obvious” things, like driving by their house or thinking of them, that gets me going. No, it’s the little, random things, such as the Boy Scouts coming around peddling popcorn, chocolate-covered pretzels (my grandfather’s favorite) and peanut brittle (a favorite of my grandmother’s) that makes my eyes well up. If I see a navy blue PT Cruiser, like the one my grandparents drove; or see an old woman leaning over her shopping cart for support like my grandmother did, it’s like I start the grieving process all over again.
It’s funny… as much as I love Christmas, it’s hard on me, too. My grandmother died two days before Christmas, and the holiday will be forever a bittersweet one because of that.
