You were never her regret. You were my pride. You still are.
Keep asking the right questions.
Love always,Grandpa
P.S. Your husband makes good joints. Tight. No glue showing. Tell him I said so again.
My mother was at the funeral. So was Lauren. Paige wasn’t.
Afterward, outside the church, my mother came up to me. She’d brought a pen in her coat pocket. She took it out and showed it to me.
“I never finished the crossword,” she said. “From that first Sunday. I kept it. I thought maybe…” She stopped.
“Maybe we could do it together,” I said.
She nodded. She couldn’t talk.
We sat in my car in the church parking lot with the heater running, my mother and I, and finished my grandfather’s crossword. She was better at the long words. I was better at the numbers.
Fourteen across was truth. Five letters.
