cross stitch

Every year for Valentines Day my Grandma would cross stitch a new sampler for my Grandpa. They were always small. A heart. A one or two word saying. I always loved to see what she made. The newest one would always be next to his bed. The others were in a collage in the living room.
She's in a new house now. I haven't ever seen it. I wonder where the cross stitches have all gone over the years? There should be twenty some of them somewhere.
I'm not sure why I've been thinking about this lately. Maybe thinking about the little things that used to impress me so much about them, like the cross stitches, reminds me of a simpler time. A time when I was blissful and ignorant of family politics. A time when I was happy to have a family that loved each other. A set of Grandparents who loved me.
Since Grandpa died, I'll admit I haven't been the happiest girl. I've even thought some pretty mean things. But you know, when it all comes down to it, they loved each other. Life gets hard sometimes, and it isn't easy to understand why people do what they do, but maybe, I'm just supposed to understand that they loved each other.