Today I returned the cradle. Ed’s cradle. The one he lent me when Nikki was about to be born. “I want it back,” he said, “when I have grandchildren.”

Today I returned it to his widow. There is no Ed there now. There are no grandchildren to rock in that cradle. There may be grandchildren some day, but Ed won’t be there to hold them.

The house was quiet. Ed’s house, without Ed. His wife looked empty. Holding up, as best she can, but empty. They were supposed to have a long life together. They were supposed to spoil their grandchildren together.

I feel this sadness I can hardly name. For Diana, for their sons, for the grandchildren that will never know Ed.

He used to call me Heather-bell. He would have been a good grandpa.

There are so many things in life that don’t make sense.

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