When I was a kid I would visit my grandparents (my biological father's parents) at least once a year. I loved going there. I had yearly visits to their house from before I can remember up through my early 20s. They spoiled me, fed me yummy stuff and made me feel like I was the center of the universe. It was awesome and I loved them (and still do) so much.
While visiting (even as an adult) I would always sleep in the same room, at the very end of a short hall way leading from the kitchen/living room area to the main bathroom and bedrooms. In the mornings my grandparents would always get up early and I would usually sleep late.
My grandpa was a farmer and even in retirement he would get up at the crack of dawn, get ready for the day, have breakfast, talk with my grandma and then head out to "the farm", which is a small peice of land that he kept with a large barn-type building and a smaller living space. I didn't go to "the farm" as often as my brother and my three (male) cousins used to but I will remember it fondly.
Anyway, because they got up early and I got up late, I would often wake up to the sounds of their voices. I loved listening to them talk in the other room. I would lay in bed even after I was wide awake just listening to the sound of their conversations. My room was far enough away that I couldn't hear most of what was said, only a word here and there, but I enjoyed listening just the same.
Last weekend I went to visit my grandma. My grandpa died on Nov 24th, 2008 so this was the first time I've been to visit since the funeral. On Sunday morning when I woke up, I laid in bed listening...
There was only silence.
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