My 68 y.o. grandma wrote in the family chat asking for money

neatly folded paper napkins. My chest tightens as I notice the sticky note next to it: “Happy birthday, Jason. I’m proud of you. Love, Grandma.”

I sit down hard on the nearest chair. My birthday is today. I didn’t even remember.

The house is still, and there’s a faint scent of lavender and cinnamon, the same mix she always wore. It clings to the old continue reading …