I heard the key turning in the lock, my Opa coming back into the house he built with his own hands, the one that had been my home for most of my life, the one I’d been visiting with my four little babies. It was Christmas time 2008. I’d just taken pictures of my girls in pajamas, my Opa with his wool beanie trying to keep his bald head warm, halfway pulling down his mask back when it wasn’t normal to wear them.
The Last One
The Last One
The Last One
I heard the key turning in the lock, my Opa coming back into the house he built with his own hands, the one that had been my home for most of my life, the one I’d been visiting with my four little babies. It was Christmas time 2008. I’d just taken pictures of my girls in pajamas, my Opa with his wool beanie trying to keep his bald head warm, halfway pulling down his mask back when it wasn’t normal to wear them.