August 28, 2008
The phone rings. It’s one of those wall phones everyone had in their kitchens in the 1970s. My father answers it, and as I watch, slides down the wall and sits on the floor, phone in hand. He drops it and starts crying. I had never seen my father cry before, and it scares me. I go to get Mom. There is a whispered conference in the kitchen, and then Mom comes out, gathers us all together, and tells us that Daddy’s Daddy has passed away. I can hear Dad’s sobs of utter grief punctuating the news. It‘s Christmas Eve.