The Missing Puzzle Piece

The Missing Puzzle Piece
As I remember, it was a beautiful and sunny spring day.   I was with my grandmother and my dad. My Grandma was a very proper, and a rather unaffectionate and unemotional woman, with a presence that was somewhat intimidating. She was a tiny woman dressed in very conservative clothing; her short gray hair, freshly done at the beauty parlor, was adorned with a 1920’s style hat. My Dad was much different; he was more the introvert, with a pretty laid back style. He had short red hair and freckles; he was not a large man in stature, but he always seemed big and strong to me. He had dropped out of college when I was born in 1967 to work in a factory, much to the dismay of his college graduate parents, who had been sure he was ruining his life. He had a love for life and the outdoors, although there always seemed to be an underlying sadness about him.
We drove the long, winding road from St Joseph to Gower. There was tension in the air that day that was magnified in the silence of that ride. I do not really remember the drive, just the ominous stillness of it. We pulled into the driveway of the duplex I had been living in with my parents. I was excited to be home, although something seemed very different; maybe it was because it was mostly empty except for some boxes and small items. The house seemed lifeless. I went into my room to find a few toys scattered on the floor. I sat down and played with a small jigsaw puzzle while the grown-ups loaded the boxes and other items into the car. We were there only a short period of time before my dad came in and picked me up. It was time to go, but I did not want to leave. I began to cry and throw the temper tantrum that only a two year old can throw. My dad carried me out the front door and down the sidewalk to the car, with me kicking, screaming, and crying, as my Grandmother locked the door behind us. Somehow, I knew we would never return there again. We were leaving something very important to me...