That spring morning in April, your granddaughter held the phone

to your ear when I called, you on your deathbed, me standing

alone at the back slider. I cried as your gravelly voice came over

the wire, systems shutting down at age 98. I knew how badly

you wanted to make it to 100. I wept so hard I couldn’t say what

was in my heart. Then a hummingbird came to the feeder hanging

outside the window. It was the first visit in a long time. I watched

the tiny bird sip nectar as you mumbled softly, words I could no longer

understand. But I knew your heart, and that you were saying, “I love you,

hon.” I wanted to ask you to say hello to my father, Virgil. But I knew you

would anyway. I remembered a friend’s words, Never say goodbye.

So, I said, I’ll see you again soon, Aunt Jean. And then you were gone.

Love,

Your niece, Nancy