Every Sunday, my brother, Alex, and I would catch the scent of pie that crept from the oven as we chased Ronnie and Ellis around my grandma’s house. We were good at keeping our traditions and though we would grow out of the stampeding about grandma’s house phase, that precious old lady’s house was where Alex, Ronnie, Ellis, and I would sit in the back porch; still the scent of pie strong steaming out the house; we’d share stories about our first crush, our first kiss, our ambitions. Alex was the first to leave for college. He never came back home. Four years of college then a big time job across the country. Ronnie and Ellis were twins, they left simultaneously a few short years after Alex. They never came back home. Not the same, at least. Turns out there was a nasty gene deep in Ronnie and Ellis waiting to reveal itself. Both twins suffered from mental breakdowns in college. Ronnie developed a nasty schizophrenia, Ellis fought depression for several years. They were home but who I’d grown up with wasn’t. The year of my graduation the scent of pie vanished forever. My grandmother’s grave was my last stop in my home town before I too would leave. I’ve never returned. People come and go. Some leave for a different country or leave to a different state. Some loose the state of their minds. Some are in their final resting place. All are dearly departed. What makes their departure so bittersweet is the time you shared with them and the memories you carry of them. That’s life. That’s what makes it worth it. #artstr #grownostr #writer #childhood #memories #Grief