A hole in my heart.

On the title of my blog it says "The Best Things in Life Aren't Things." I have never felt so strongly about that phrase as I do right now. I haven't been as sad as I am right now in a long, long time. I have been crying off and on for the past 2 days. My grandparents on my mom's side died a few years ago leaving quite a legacy. I have never met such gracious people in my life. I am who I am today because of them. They spent their lives making others feel good about themselves. They were eager to teach their family to appreciate the beautiful things and literally stop to smell the flowers. They were the King and Queen of building traditions and memories. As I drove by the place that used to be their home I lost it. I had to pull over because my eyes were so full of tears I couldn't see. What I saw was a pile of memories. The thoughts of hot dog roasting, sleeping in the back yard, tractor rides, climbing that tiny little ramp to the old chicken coop, chasing sheep after Dana's car was stolen, life size cut outs of John Stockton and Karl Malone during the Playoffs, deer hunt sleepovers, grandpa with his skinny legs and waders directing irrigation water then finishing up with a few golf balls being hit from one side of the property to the other, grandma slowly wandering through the orchard pondering which apple was the best, cards around the coffee table, Grandma Kemp style buffets that can never be duplicated, wheat toast that only tasted good in that kitchen, the light in grandmas face as you walked through the door, I could even hear Grandpa cheer "Annie, there you are" with his fist pumping in the air as I sat and watched it all be crushed and set in a pile.
Grandpa truly knew the meaning of hard work. He built his home and everything that was on his property. He carefully placed each fence post, planted every tree, set every rock, placed every walking path. Grandma had such a beautiful garden and would always send me home with a bag of tomatoes. I will always cherish the year and a half that I got to live in their little guest house. What a lucky girl I am that I got to see my grandparents every single day. I was able to look over that beautiful piece of property that they sweat over for years. As I sat there on 900 East yesterday watching the trucks and the tractors bulldoze those memories my heart was shred to pieces. It was almost as difficult for me to watch it be stacked in a pile as it was to hear the words that Grandma and Grandpa died. I have thought a lot about them today and how grateful I am that they built such a strong family. You don't often hear people say they enjoy hanging out with aunts, uncles and cousins but we do. As Dana put it so eloquently "we are so damn cool." The coolest part about us is how much we all love each other and that is because of two great people who raised us that way. They raised us to remember that friends come and go but family is forever. Take time to make memories. I am so glad I have the memories of that home on 9th east. And now we all watch it be hauled away so a bank can be built, but the traditions will be forever.

I know this is a depressing post, but I am depressed and thought I'd share.