I walked through the welcoming threshold of a home that smelled of nostalgia, love, and dark humor.

I stood in a kitchen that was meant for serious food. The kind that creates a luxurious bath of flavor over your tounge, and leaves you with a subconscious smile of satisfaction.

I sat on the kind of back porch that you only see on the television screen. Where laughter was thicker than the smoke. Where small talk was banned, because this was a place only fit for real conversation.

I fell into a smile. A smile that was warm, meaningful, and ornery all at the same damn time.

Taking care of this man was not the easiest thing I’ve done. He made sure of it. There was no mystery to how he felt or what he wanted… or didn’t want.

Curse words and thrown objects were just a part of life. Fits were had. Faces were made. Glass doors were shattered.

And each day I was ready to go back.

Because there was no mystery about who he loved

…

I hung my head on the outside of the threshold of a home. I laid my hand on the closed door, and wept. Then, I said goodbye.

I walked through the doors of a funeral home that smelled of love, nostalgia, and dark humor.

I stood in a room full of people. The kind of people that can fill your soul with a good memory, and breathe life back into loss.

I sat and watched the widow sweetly deliver no small talk, but a beautiful quilt of words that wrapped itself around each mourner.

I fell into a family. A family that is warm, meaningful, and ornery all at the same damn time.