It’s 7:30am. The
phone rings and I answer. It’s my
Grandfather, sounding serious, asking for my Dad. He’s outside shovelling snow so I take over and
he goes into the phone. Too much time
passes and, even with my little kid’s shovel, I manage to finish before my Dad
returns. When I get inside mom and dad
are sitting at the table looking serious.
This is the first time I hear the world death.
Although that part is
singed into my memory, I can’t remember who it was. My memory seems to have repeated it as
well. In my head, this happened multiple
times, but I know some calls came in the summer. I know I didn’t always answer
the phone. One thing is for
certain.
Calls before breakfast are never good news.
