The sunrise slowly begins to paint the dim kitchen walls with an array of red and orange hues. I wobble towards the worn burgundy stool my grandmother sat upon, grabbing at her loose purple pant legs with my tiny hands. Her wrinkled face forms into a soft smile as she raises me weakly onto her aged knee. The crimson light from the burner illuminates her weary sapphire eyes. She slides her chilly hands under the back of my Winne the Pooh sleep shirt. Her palm rests on the small of my back, keeping me aloft over the stained floor. 

     Loud creaks from the hallway adjacent to the kitchen signal the arrival of my grandfather. The few gray hairs left on his head flop over his relaxed brows, meeting my grandmother's tense expression. Easing himself into a shabby chair near the kitchen counter, he gently removes his cow manure covered boots. 

     He rises, earning a low groan from the broken down chair. I whip my head around and flash him a two-toothed grin as he passes the rickety kitchen counter threshold. His silver caps smiled back at me. Two hands varying in size run softly up and down my back, keeping their distance from one another. 

     “You’ll have to learn to do this on your own someday hon,” My grandmother coos, removing the boiling pot from the faded white stovetop. 

     “We won’t be around forever you know dear,” remarks my grandfather, his rough tan hand ruffling my curly brown hair. 

     “Yes you will, silly!” I shriek, latching tightly onto the man closest to me.