We didn’t realize it at first. We just stood there reading them quietly.

“Learn to sit with pain instead of running from it.”
“Call people before they need to call you.”
“Grow something, even if it’s just a tomato.”
“Say the thing. Don’t wait.”

Suddenly everything about Grandpa made sense. Those random phone calls where he’d check in “just because.” The tomatoes he brought in brown paper bags to every family gathering. The way he never let a disagreement last long.

He wasn’t just being thoughtful.

He was following her instructions for how to live without her.

A few days later, I went back to their house alone. I think I just needed to stand in the place where their life happened. It still smelled like cinnamon and old books. I walked into Grandpa’s study and noticed that the bottom drawer of his desk was taped shut. I peeled it open, thinking maybe there’d be old receipts or things to toss.