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Those close to me know that my grandmother, Mema, is the one who mostly raised me and is more of a mother than a grandmother. Given my entirely unstable childhood, her house became the one place in the universe that I could count on to always be there and always be the same. I was always safe and happy there. Some of my best memories are at that house on Country Drive. Hell, most of my oldest friends spent a ton of time there too and probably have memories there as well. Well, Mema isn't doing so well now. My uncle was doing a less than stellar job taking care of her and the state of Alabama took custody of her. She's in the hospital now because of a stroke and neglect basically. The alzheimer's that stalks the women on her side of the family is taking its toll, and she's going to have to be in a nursing facility. Mom's been made her guardian, at least for now, and Mema will probably be moved to a facility down here near us when it's possible in the next few months. In the meantime, Mom had to sell the house.

You know, it's been killing me that Mema has been steadily declining, but it didn't really hit me until I thought about the house being sold. My room will no longer be my room. Danny's room won't be his anymore. The flowers and the trees in the yard won't be hers anymore. There's thrift in that yard that came from Mema's grandmother's yard, for crying out loud. It's family history. And it was all I had of home for most of my life....