One of the greatest losses I've suffered so far in this life was the loss of my dad's parents--the reason being that it was incredibly difficult to watch him go through losing his parents first-hand, especially at an age where I was just beginning to understand the harsh realities of life.

As I was 13 and in eighth-grade when it happened, I cried like a baby because I couldn't stand watching my dad hurt in a way I couldn't comprehend.

This was one of the first occasions of me feeling like I had lost a piece of my childhood that I'd never get back. A piece of my innocence had just disappeared without warning.

You see, I grew up spending summer vacations and long weekends at their home in Alabaster, which is about 20 miles south of Birmingham.

It was always a place I felt safe and loved. A place where I was spoiled and taken care of. A place I knew I could always go.

I spent my time here wandering around my grandmothers well-groomed garden--one that she had spent years cultivating. I would sit on the porch playing with my dolls, listening to the rain fall on the tin roof my grandmother had had intentionally installed just for the quality of that sound.

I'd watch old western movies with my grandfather in the living room, and late at night I would sneak to the porch fridge by the light of the moon and treat myself to the candy drawer my grandfather always kept stashed for me.

I'd sit on the counter and help my grandfather make sausage balls because that was our thing and he always gave in when I wanted to bake them. I'd rove around outside and pretend I was an explorer or a princess or just a girl that was lost trying to find her way home.

I'd roam around the basement looking at all the pictures and fabrics my grandmother had stashed over the years. I'd wake up in the morning to Eggo waffles and chocolate milk.

No place makes me feel quite this way. Like a kid again. Like nothing in the world can stop me. Like there isn't anything worse in the world than not getting dessert.

After my grandparents passed away, we kept the house and rented it out because it was a place that we weren't ready to part from.

Today my mom, dad, and I drove to Alabaster to look at the property because they are considering selling.

I haven't been here in 8 years.

And my friends, as I sit here on hearth in the room that I spent playing in for the first twelve years of my life, I can honestly say that I don't know how people do it. How they cope.

I don't know how my dad had the strength to hold it together when he lost both his parents. How he managed to deal with that kind of devastation.

How does one place affect you so much?

This is what I know.

It's not necessarily the place. It's the people that make it.

It's not the physical things, it's the heart behind it.

Those are the things you'll carry with you forever--the way people affect you and how much they loved you.

Dad, thank you for sharing your parents with me. Thank you for letting me go back to this place with you because it reminded me of where you come from and how much your parents loved you.

You come from a household of love and grace, and I couldn't ask for a better way to get to know my roots.