Uncle Ray’s Full Parking Lot: When Love Arrives Only After Death

and time.

The living room was clean, but not “someone’s been here” clean.

More like “no one’s touched anything” clean.

On the side table sat a notebook.

No lock.

No secrecy.

Just a notebook with a pen resting across it like Ray had put it down mid-thought.

The nephew opened it.

It wasn’t a diary.

It was a log.

Dates.

Times.

Simple notes.

Monday: no visitors.
Tuesday:continue reading …