Earlier I told you dinner was tepid, but nice and not at all like it's been over the past 364 days.  Much of the night was spent lying on my back on knotted wool carpet in his bedroom with the lights out, running my fingertips along the wooden ridges of his musky dresser’s legs, listening to conversations in the kitchen about stories he’d written.  My grandmother laughed and laughed; I cradled my head with his holey, navy sweatshirt.  You were on the line when I answered and I told you my grandfather is in my heart and he always will be.