On a recent vacation I came across an obituary in the local newspaper of a small agricultural town between point a and point b. It was for a 98 year old woman who stared back at me, smiling through glasses in a neat and tidy flower print shirt. But, as I read her story, I read between the lines and it made me incredibly sad.
She had been born in a town only 15 miles or so from the same one in which she died. She had six children who also lived in the same town, along with ten grandchildren in the same town, and great-grandchildren.
I realize that my reaction was filtered through my own experiences and therfore may or may not have been a fair assumption of her life. But, I still couldn't help but think...
What made her stay rooted?
Was she truly happy, or had she convinced herself that she was?
Why had her children never left, or her grandchildren?