« Some creatures remember home better than people do. »
As Grandpa slowed down, almost every Friday after work I drove four hours to his place.
I filled his refrigerator, cleaned, changed lightbulbs, and drove him to appointments.
Every Saturday morning, we’d sit outside the pigeon loft with coffee while he told me stories I had already heard.
Ryan visited on birthdays.
Sometimes Christmas.
Almost every Friday after work, I drove four hours to his place.
Always when he needed something.
One Saturday, I was washing dishes when Grandpa’s phone rang.
He answered it in the kitchen.
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