He sat with his wife’s photo, waiting for a son who had already boarded without him

her.

I just sat and listened as she told the same story about her wedding day in 1952. Each retelling felt like a thread from a tapestry she was afraid would unravel. It made me think of Grandpa.

Even as his memory faded, he still felt. He still reached for my hand, still flinched at loud noises, still smiled at birdsong. And maybe that is the part no continue reading …