“I don’t know what to keep.”
“We don’t have to decide everything today.”
“Grandpa’s moving, Mom. We do.”
He was right. My instinct was to organize everything and choose for him. Instead, I opened Michael’s notebook.
“Your dad kept drawings of his projects. Maybe we could photograph the things we can’t take.”
After considering it, Nathan passed me the camera.
“Start with the workbench.”
I photographed it as he pointed out the details.
“Dad made this. I don’t want to leave it.”
There was a small drawer marked with Michael’s initials.
“Could we keep the drawer instead?”
Frank helped us detach it. Nathan hugged it close.
“I’d like that.”
We moved back to the rocking chair. Nathan stroked the armrest.
“It just needs one last coat.”
I wished I could promise that finishing his father’s projects would make everything all right. But grief wasn’t something we could repair completely.
“Can I help?” I asked.
