Going Home

They say that you can never go home again as it won't be the same. But, there was a time when that wasn't true. When I came home to what I expected.
I opened the back door and there was the steps going down to the basement and then the four steps going up into the kitchen. Going through the kitchen door sitting at the kitchen table was grandpa drinking his morning coffee with his breakfast which was always the same. Eggs, Bacon and Toast. Then to finish the meal off a little sryup in a little bacon grease and the left over toast to mop it up with. I don't think that changed my whole life. Grandma was sitting across the table from gramps and the sun was shining into the kitchen and the smell was so good. The venetian blinds in the dining room were open and the sun was shining through the Priscilla curtains and Micky the Parakeet was on the sideboard talking to himself in the mirror. Going home was the same until the two people that made it the same were gone. No going home isnt the same