Goodbye

Matt was gone for a week this month. He was here...



He left us behind with a heavy heart and headed for West Virginia. Here is the trip in his words...

The first death in my family happened on February 7, 2010. My grandfather, Harry Mitchell, died at the age of 92. Leaving my grandmother all alone on the side of a mountain in West Virginia. I never really took the time to really get to know him, though I loved him and looked forward to seeing him. I won't make the same mistake with my Grandma. I am inspired by their dedication to each other for 60 years. The funeral was almost emotionless. Yet there was a peacefulness knowing he has moved on to a better place.



The snow fell softly throughout the week, a nice treat for this Florida boy. Grandma's house is the one constant in my lifetime. It's the one place that feels like home despite the porcelain bunnies everywhere. She seemed to keep it together for the most part, but sometimes I would find her crying aloud asking, "What am I going to do now?". I was never sure what to say, so a hug felt universal at those moments. The week was filled with probating, organizing, searching for titles, cooking, cleaning, watching Grandma cheer aloud for Apolo Ohno, shoveling snow, eating, a trip to the top of the mountain to see where Grandad and his parents lie and where Grandma will someday as well. Hopefully not too soon.



Harry and Ann Mitchell 1956