We found an old typewriter in my husband’s granddad’s shed as we were cleaning it out one afternoon. Apparently it had belonged to “Grandpa”, as we called him, back in his earlier days when he worked for the postal service. The small but heavy piece of equipment didn’t work, but something about it struck me as beautiful and we kept it displayed in our living room in Austin and now in Colorado.
When my mom was in hospice care in my home we had conversations about how she wasn’t ready for “it” to be over. “It” being life here on earth, as if she was potentially leaving somethings left undone. I didn’t put it all together until after she passed, past the funeral, past the burial, past the grieving and all of the hard things that follow.
