We're walking in the parking lot, my Grandma and I. We just had a family meeting at my father's office (they call my Dad "Abbe" now, like they used to call Grandpa).
Little cousins are scampering everywhere, everyone has bunny ears because it's Easter, the rain is coming down gently. Grandma's having trouble walking again, and she's leaning heavily on me, since all the Uncles and Aunts are busy herding children. I'm having trouble saying anything to the woman who gave birth to us all. Might be because Grandpa's ghost is walking with us.
The Uncles, and my Dad, are all choked up about the one year anniversary of Grandpa's death. It happens to fall on my Dad's birthday, coming up in about a week. The Aunts are the strong ones, loud and forthright, making their plans about who's bringing what to the next gathering and gossiping about children and distant relations while the menfolk awkwardly stare red-faced at their cold cups of coffee, trying to clear their throats.
And so now Grandma and I are walking out to one of my Uncle's cars, and I'm helping her not just with doors and stairs, but even just walking, just walking is toilsome and difficult for her. She's tired. Her steps are halting and fragile. She misses Grandpa desperately.
And then she farts, loudly.
And she smiles, and says, "That's Grandpa for you."