It’s so easy to see your parental figure through that lens alone, to think that their existence has always revolved around yours. But before they were parents, they were simply human beings trying to navigate life as best they could, dealing with their own disappointments, chasing after their own dreams. And yet we often expect them to be infallible.
It was selfish of me to assume I was the only important person in his life for all those years—Bessie had lost Grandpa too. But I was infinitely grateful for what she had revealed. Even though he died alone, he didn’t die lonely.
And while I’d never know what his exact last words were, I knew he was proud of me.
* * *
It was a little jarring to arrive home to my newly decorated apartment. By most people’s measure, it wouldn’t have appeared empty at all. Plenty of my own books still lined the shelves, along with select mementos from my travels. The amount of furniture was reflective of an adult my age, with a few new pieces—thanks to Sylvie’s nudging—that made the apartment seem almost modern. But compared to what it looked like just a week ago, it felt bare.
And there was one item still slated for departure.
When Sylvie first suggested we donate Grandpa’s armchair to Goodwill, I defiantly refused. It was the one thing in the apartment that made me feel closest to him. But as the weeks passed, my defiance faltered. So many times I’d watched family members refuse to leave their deceased loved one’s side long after their life—their essence—had left, and all that remained was a body. Inevitably, they’d face the agonizing moment when they had to accept that the only way to keep that essence alive was to carry it in their own hearts.
So I sat in his beloved green corduroy armchair, tracing its threadbare fabric and allowing myself to feel his embrace one last time. And as I stood in the hall, watching the movers maneuver it out of the building, I felt like I was being given a chance to redeem myself.
To be present as the final sigh of breath departed Grandpa’s body.
When I got back up to my apartment, I noticed a large UPS package resting next to the door. Strange. I hadn’t ordered anything lately—the whole point of the last couple of weeks was getting rid of old stuff, not acquiring new stuff.
I placed it on the coffee table and stared at it, trying to guess what it could be. Then I looked at the sender’s name on the label.
Selma Ramirez
Why would Selma be sending me something? I sliced my house key through the packing tape and found another box inside. As I pulled it out, a folded note card fell to the floor with my name neatly inscribed on the outside in Claudia’s elegant hand.
My darling Clover,
I love the way you see the world—I hope this helps you share that vision with others.
(Never too late to pick up a new hobby, eh?)
Sincerely,
Claudia Wells
From beneath the layers of paper, I unearthed a brand-new digital camera, several lenses, and a small bottle of perfume with an emerald-green cap.
I sat back on the sofa, processing everything. Maybe Grandpa, Claudia, and Leo had teamed up on the other side.
Now I just had to work out how to live a life that would make them all proud.
55
Lola and Lionel watched curiously as I wheeled my brand-new lightweight suitcase out into the living room. George was already comfortably settled into his three-month sabbatical in Sylvie’s apartment, but the two tabbies would stay here with the subletter, Sylvie’s colleague from Chile, whose soft spot for animals rivaled mine.
The apartment no longer felt bare, but I also didn’t feel as tethered to it as I once had.
Grief, I’d come to realize, was like dust. When you’re in the thick of a dust storm, you’re completely disoriented by the onslaught, struggling to see or breathe. But as the force recedes, and you slowly find your bearings and see a path forward, the dust begins to settle into the crevices. And it will never disappear completely—as the years pass, you’ll find it in unexpected places at unexpected moments.
Grief is just love looking for a place to settle.
Even without all of his possessions, I still felt Grandpa’s presence—I’d been carrying it with me all along. But there were still three books on the shelves that I’d never get rid of.
Leo had spoken his final words more than a month ago, but I still hadn’t been able to bring myself to write them down. I closed my eyes as I stood in front of the shelves, summoning my strength, then pulled the notebook marked ADVICE from between its two counterparts.
Flipping to a clean page, I uncapped the fountain pen Grandpa had gifted me for my ninth birthday, now on what must have been its hundredth ink cartridge.
Then I noted Leo’s name, address, the date he died, and his words of wisdom.
The secret to a beautiful death is living a beautiful life.
I reflected on the words for a few moments, etching them onto my heart for safekeeping. Then I blew briskly on the ink and snapped the book shut. As I returned it to its rightful place, my eyes fell on the binoculars on the shelf next to the notebooks. I’d forgotten they were there. I couldn’t care less what was going on in the apartment across the street—my own life was proving to be far more compelling.
* * *
Sylvie answered as soon as I knocked.
“I was waiting near the door listening for your footsteps because I was worried you’d try to sneak out without saying goodbye.” She crossed her arms. “I know you’re good at being stealthy when you want to be.”
I cringed, hoping she’d let me forget it one day. “I’d never do that—I promise.”
“What time is Hugo picking you up?” she asked with the singsong of a teenaged girl.
“In about five minutes, so I’d better get downstairs.” I could see George snoring contentedly in a patch of sunlight on her sofa. As much as I wanted to give him one last hug, I didn’t want to confuse him when he’d already made himself at home with Sylvie. “Thanks again for taking care of George.”
“Are you kidding? It’s a dream—and I’m pretty sure three months is enough time to convince him to enjoy doga.” Sylvie flashed the sly smile I already knew I’d miss. “And for the record, despite my minimalist decor, George and I expect to receive a postcard from every place you visit.”
I felt a mix of sadness and exhilaration. “I can do that.”
“Great. Now, I know you’re super awkward about hugs, so I’m giving you fair warning that I’m about to give you one.”
Thank God she brought it up first—initiating a hug felt so unnatural. I put down my luggage in anticipation. “That’s okay with me.”
She squeezed me tightly, resting her chin on my shoulder. “I’m going to miss you so much!”
It felt like such a privilege to have someone to miss me. “I’ll miss you too.”
Sylvie inhaled deeply as she loosened her grip. “Mmmm, you smell lovely—I didn’t think you were a perfume person!”
I blushed. “I wasn’t, but I thought it might be time to try something new.”
She winked at me. “I love it.”
* * *
Hugo arrived outside my building exactly on time, his battered Land Rover incongruous against the manicured West Village streetscape.
“You packed light,” he grinned, lifting my suitcase into the back seat then opening the passenger-side door. Gus squeezed in at my feet.
“Thanks so much for driving me to the airport.” I scratched Gus’s chin and committed his adoring canine gaze to memory.
“Of course!” Hugo maneuvered the Land Rover around a double-parked delivery truck. “I’m happy I get to spend an extra fifty minutes with you before you go—depending on traffic, that is.”
A wave of sadness washed over me as we turned out of my street. I sat with it and let it recede.
I looked over at Hugo. His curls were more contained than usual—he’d probably gotten a haircut before starting his new job. “So, how are you settling into city life?”
“Well, Brooklyn isn’t quite as peaceful as a houseboat on a lake, but it’s been treating me well so far,” he said. “And it’s nice not having a seven-hour commute.”
“I bet.”
The independent cinema on Sixth Avenue sailed past my window and my nostalgia surfaced again. I was going to miss this city and being just one bead on its infinite abacus of inhabitants.