Today was my grandfather’s 87th birthday. We did a small thing at my aunt’s house—just close family, some cake, and way too many casseroles. He looked sharp, suit jacket and everything, though his hands were shaking more than usual when he tried to cut the cake. I’ve always been close with him.
He used to pick me up from school in this old beat-up Buick and let me pick the music. So when he asked me to help him back to his room after everyone ate, I didn’t think twice.His bedroom’s in the back of the house, quiet and kind of dark. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and while he was catching his breath, he pointed to a box in the closet. “Get that one for me, will you?” he said, voice real low. I pulled it out—just a plain cardboard box taped shut. He stared at it for a second, then waved his hand. “Open it.”
