It's been more than a week since Grandma Erika died. I try not to count the days. I may not have seen her every day, but still she was always there. It seems so strange, even now, when I tell myself, logically: it's over. You're not going to see her anymore. I can still feel her though. She'd been so eager to see him go to school, but she didn't make it. Somebody up there messes up the timetable. They don't always make allowances. He's supposed to be going to school today. Supposed to... The teacher will write "Good Morning First Grade" in block letters on the green board. Markings that won't mean a thing to him. It'll be a…

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