When my parents invited me over for brunch, I didn't expect to be asked to go to visit

my dying grandfather. I knew that he was dying, but I figured that I'd be the last person

he'd wanted to see in his final days. He'd never show me any kind of affection. No grandfatherly

advice was ever given, no inside jokes ever shared, no parent-angering and mischief-encouraging

gifts ever snuck into my hand beneath the table at birthday dinners.

I'd experienced none of the things I'd come to know about a grandfather-grants-and-relationship,

learn through books, TV and movies. But my mom swore that he wanted to see me, and

not just have me come visit, but come alone. My parents hadn't been asked to join me in

my weekend visit to his house. I loved my parents, especially my mom, now

events to my dad, he's great too. So I agreed, figuring that despite the apathy he had shown

me my entire life, I still had a familial duty to uphold. My mom assured me that the visit

wouldn't be as bad as I'd anticipated, and that my grandfather had softened in his old age,

that coming to phase his mortality had humbled him. I told her that I wasn't worried about

not getting along and promised that I tried to have a good time. She smiled, and I saw how much

it meant to her by the tears that gathered in her eyes. I knew she and her dad were close,

that he hadn't married or so much as they did another woman since his wife's death almost

two decades ago. That gesture of death-defying faith on us, that long held abstinence had meant

so much to her. My dad always said that she loved her mom more than anything, and that the

old woman's death had seemed to irreparably dampen her spirits. Fortunately for everyone involved,

I had recently been promoted at work, and my boss had been kind enough to give me a short

paid vacation before I started my new position, which was sure to keep me busy and devoid of

free time for the foreseeable future. I promised my parents that I would go to my grandfather's

...