I had been to the house a few times over the years to visit with my grandmother, but after my father left those times became far less frequent, and when my mother died they became nonexistent to the point where I wasn't even able to go to her funeral last year because the drive was too far. Blackburrow is an incredibly small town in northern Michigan, just shy of the upper peninsula.
I got out of the truck and grabbed my bag, my grandfather doing the same. Then, almost as one, we made the short walk to the small cemetery to the left of the house, in which resided nearly a dozen generations of my family, and where my grandmother had been laid to rest. We both stood in silence over her grave, the times I spent with her going through my mind. I turned away first and headed for the house. My
