The man I was supposed to be building my whole life with.
My grandma Grace had been the most excited of anybody.
She is 82 and tiny in the way some old women become without ever seeming weak.
She has these small hands that have worked harder than most people I know.
She does not have much money.
Everyone in the family knows that. But she gives like she is rich in all the ways that matter.
For almost a year, she had been working on a gift for Edwin and me.
Every time I visited, there was yarn beside her chair. Red, white, blue, cream.
Sometimes a little sewing tin.
Sometimes her glasses pushed low on her nose while she worked with that deep concentration older people have when they are making something with love.
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