I was wrong.
What Ten Years of Being Their Grandmother Actually Looked Like
Before I tell you what was in that box, I want you to understand what the previous ten years had been.
The night the sheriff came to my door, I remember it was nearly midnight and I had already gotten all seven children settled — the older ones in sleeping bags in the living room, the little ones upstairs. Daniel had dropped them all off that afternoon for a summer visit. He’d kissed my cheek on the way out and said, “You love it. Just don’t send them back too spoiled.”
I had laughed. I remember that clearly. I laughed and told him to drive safely.
By midnight, the sheriff was at my door.
The accident was severe enough that the caskets were closed at the funeral. I remember standing there thinking I needed to be strong for seven children who were watching me to understand whether the world was going to hold together. I held together. I kept holding.
