Like Grandma and I had done for two years to Grandpa's grave, I was now taking flowers to place on her grave. I would sit and talk to her, and I told her how much I loved her and missed her.  Sometimes I would feel close to her, and other times I would feel nothing at all. Then it suddenly dawned upon me that this would have meant everything to her, for I realized that it is the little things in life that mean the most. And this is what she taught me, just by her actions of taking those flowers to place on my Grandpa's grave. For in life, the hands of fate and time give little to us at first, and then take so much from us in the end.

I return often to these memories. They recall to me the best part of my life. Losing my grandparents and my plans for a happy future while I was in my middle teens sent me into a free fall that resulted in years of alcoholism, as I tried to live with the pain and the confusion. I became a disappointment to my family and to myself. And I know that in this real world there is no going back.

Sometimes, as I lie in my cell, I think - and hope - that I am a young boy again sleeping and dreaming on the couch in the farm house. Then I shall finally wake up from this nightmare and walk into the kitchen and there they all will be, Grandma and Grandpa and maybe even Freckles and Eggroll, like nobody ever left or died. And I can be Kenny Ray, the happy young man who works the farm with the two people he loves most in the world.

. . . . . . This is the end of my memories of my beloved grandparents. Thank you for sharing them with me.

In my next message, I will post a story about my early days as a waiter that Ruth Ann thinks is very funny.