Grandpa Walter was the kind of man who answered the phone on the first ring, no matter the hour.
He kept a notebook by his recliner with everyone’s birthdays, anniversaries, and the dates of every grandchild’s school recital.
He had worked 40 years at the same job, sometimes pulling double shifts so my cousins could have braces, so Aunt Linda could finish her degree, and so Uncle Greg could put a down payment on his first truck.
« Family takes care of family, » he used to say, sliding an envelope across the kitchen table to whoever needed it that month.
He never asked to be paid back.
He never even kept track.
When Grandma passed two winters ago, something in him went quiet.
She had always been the one who planned the birthdays, baked the cakes, and sent the cards in her looping cursive.
