I watched ten years of two separate griefs become, in one afternoon, one shared family.
PART 5 — FINAL
That was two years ago.
Margaret is part of our lives now — fully, completely, the second grandmother my daughter arranged for her son before she died. She lives close enough to come for Sunday pancakes, and she does, most weeks. She teaches my grandson things about his father — Michael loved baseball too, it turns out, which explained something I’d always wondered about, where the boy got it, because it certainly wasn’t from me. She brought photos. My grandson has his father’s face on his wall now, and his father’s old baseball glove, and his father’s story, told by the woman who loved that boy first.
Margaret and I became something I never expected. Not just co-grandmothers. Friends. Family. Two women who each lost a child far too young, and who found, in
