“Gram, this is our couch.”
And I said: “It’s my couch, buddy. It always was. Want to sit on it?”
And he did.
Emily is old enough to have figured out most of it, and she’s angry at everybody, and she took it out on me for about three visits and then stopped. We don’t talk about it. Her mother is her mother and I have never said one word about Rebecca to those children and I never will.
Jack still gets in my bed on Saturday mornings and watches cartoons on the little television in my bedroom.
That TV came out of that house. It’s on my list, line six.
What I’d Tell Any Widow Who Just Got Asked to Move in With Her Children
