I Came Home for Christmas and Found My Family Gone to Europe, Leaving Me Alone With Grandpa and a Note Saying I Had to Care for Him. When Grandpa Asked, “Shall We Begin?” I Nodded. One Week Later, They Came Back Screaming.
I returned home to Connecticut three days before Christmas, pulling my suitcase through six inches of snow and expecting the familiar chaos: Mom shouting about oven timers, Dad wrestling with the tree lights, and my younger brother, Caleb, pretending presents did not excite him.
Instead, the house was dark.
Only one lamp glowed in the living room.
My grandfather, Theodore Whitaker, sat beside the fireplace in his old wooden rocking chair. He was eighty-two, thin as folded paper, wearing a brown cardigan and polished shoes. Both hands rested over the silver handle of his cane.
A note in my mother’s handwriting lay on the coffee table.
Avery,
Mom, Dad, and Caleb went to Europe for Christmas. You stay and care for Grandpa. He has medication, meals, and appointments. Don’t be dramatic. We’ll be back after New Year’s.
Mom
I read it three times.
Cold settled in my chest.
