*Notebook

The day he died, my grandfather gave me a small black notebook. The cover was worn and corners were tattered, but he'd been carrying it for as long as I could remember, so I was a surprised when he pressed it into my hands. Perhaps if I'd known he was about to die it would have meant more to me, but at the time it just seemed strange.

"Kari," he said, closing my fingers around the well-loved notebook, "I've been carrying this for you since well before you were born. It's been with me through two wives, five daughters, nine grandchildren, and more than a few great-grandchildren. It's more than just a place to write down shopping lists and driving directions, though you can use it for that, too, I suppose. No, this notebook is magic. It can lead you down an interesting road or help you find your way to peace. It's up to you." He squeezed my hands in his and then pulled away. I flipped through the pages, seeing that most of them had some kind of writing on them, all in his handwriting, all in pencil. It didn't seem like anything out of the ordinary, and I knew my grandpa was prone to flights of fancy, especially since the dementia had kicked in, so I hugged him, thanked him, and slipped the small book into my back pocket. The rest of our visit was uneventful, and it was like he'd forgotten he'd given me the thing as soon as it left his hands, until it was time for me to go.

"Make at least one note every day," he whispered in my ear when we hugged goodbye, "and remember that I love you." I kissed his cheek and left.

When the call came that night, I fell to the floor, sobbing and curling into a ball. I was in the middle of packing my house to move, so everything around me was a mess. My brain and body quit at the same time, shutting down so I couldn't feel the pain of my heart being torn out of my body. The carpet was dusty and smelled slightly a feet and mold as it pressed against my face. My cats circled around me, trying to see if I was injured or just being weird. One of them curled up on my back and started purring, like I was laying there just for him. But his weight comforted me and slowly anchored me back into my body. One existence ended and a paler one started.

I forgot about the notebook for a few weeks and only found it when I was throwing those jeans into the washer, emptying the pockets of tissues and change. Noticing my pants were heavier than usual, I checked the pockets and found the notebook. It smelled like paper and memories. The soft cover made me think of his hands around mine, the warmth of his skin. My mind played a video of all the times I'd watched him write in this little book, writing down the measurements for the bookcases and step-stools we used to build together, figuring feet of lumber needed for each project, calculating the amount of stained glass he would need for each project, making a note of what Grandma had needed us to pick up at the store.

My husband found me on the floor, leaning against the washer, my face bathed in tears. I showed him the notebook, not needing to say anything else about my discovery. He had never met my grandfather, but he knew how much he had meant to me.

"Well that was a kick in the nuts you didn't need today," he said, sinking down beside me on the floor and pulling me close to him. I tried to stop crying but couldn't seem to catch my breath.

"It was such a good day until just that moment," I rambled, clutching the notebook to my chest.

"Yeah, I know," he comforted, rubbing my back and warming me up where the cement basement floor had made me so cold.

"He told me to write in it every day," I finally said when I calmed down.

"I think he'll understand the delay," he said gently, helping me back to my feet. I started the washer and we went back upstairs.

Before bed, I found a pencil and wrote a quick note on the first blank page.

"I'm sorry it took so long for me to write in this. You have only been gone a few weeks but I love and miss you and wish you were here. I'm sorry I didn't come to see you as often as either of us would have liked, and I'm sorry if you were angry with me over that. I hope you know you are always welcome to visit, even if you don't have a body anymore. I will hold you in my heart forever. Thank you for teaching me so much and loving me even when I was bad. I will try to be better. I love you and I'm sorry."

I closed the notebook and put it on the nightstand next to my meds. I wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted to be worthy of the faith he'd always had in me, in all of his grandchildren. We had all been his favorites. He had loved us all equally in our own unique ways. He had helped us learn what it was to love and be loved no matter what. I would still feel guilty for not being enough.

Heart bruised and aching, I set my glasses on the notebook and turned off the light.