Friends of a Feather

Since my grandmother’s death, my mom and I had worried about my grandfather. He cared for my grandmother
throughout her lung cancer battle. They’d been married for over 50 years. But now he was alone. Our phone began ringing at precisely 7 a.m. every day. I knew who was on the other end: my grandfather.

My mother, sister and I had spent the summer helping my grandfather take care of my grandmother. When she died, he was lost without her and those break-of-dawn calls seemed to ground him with a routine to follow each day.

For months, one of us answered the phone and listened to his plans for the day, the latest news or his thoughts on the morning cartoon. Some days, we headed to his favorite diner and ate breakfast with him, too. One day, there was no morning call and no answer at his house. We panicked before we decided to head over to the diner.

We found him holding up the cartoon page, laughing with a group of elderly men over steaming cups of coffee. He waved excitedly to us and introduced us to his friends. There was a smile on his face that we hadn’t seen in months.

While the 7 a.m. calls continued, we knew he had found new friends to share his life with and to help him move forward.