My grandmother died on Friday. She would have been 93 years old in November and mad as hell about it. She’d seen enough, and in the last few years had become a prisoner inside her own body. Who could blame her for wanting to pass on to the other world? I certainly don’t.

And so on Saturday afternoon I rented a car and drove 400 miles to see my father, who, in the span of exactly one month, has lost both his son and his mother. My brother is a true tragedy . . . the guy was too young, and who wants to bury their own child? My grandmother lived a long, full life and died without pain and surrounded by her children. I don’t know what more anyone could ask for. Still, she is gone, and I miss her. I’m staying with my dad in her house, which is about 500 feet away from his house. And when he is away during the day, I am alone in her house and I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever been alone here. Other than her many musical clocks that chime every hour, it is utterly quiet.

Though, I’m not totally alone . . . I am here with her cat Abby, who follows me around everywhere and rubs against my leg. What is a true sadness is that she is clearly confused that my grandma is gone, and naps in her recliner and wheelchair, or else on her folded blanket on the hospice bed in the living room where my grandma died.

At night, she sleeps in the upstairs bed with me:

She gets angry when I leave!

My dad says he is going to slowly move into my grandma’s house. He has already done something which is very much My Dad: after collecting a ton of Americana antiques, he has for whatever reason built a replica Shell gas station office in the basement garage here. I need to take more pictures because honestly it’s pretty impressive. He has a payphone and a vintage candy machine and everything.

And all of this is mere feet away from his 60s Ford F-100, which predates seatbelts, and thus is a little terrifying to drive around in:

Last time I was here, we ran some errands in it, and everywhere we went, women hit on him. I couldn’t believe it. He had once mentioned to me that this happens, and I thought, “Yeah, OK.” Sure enough, we were the most popular dudes in town for a few hours. Women were batting their eyes at him! This man is almost 70. On the way back home, he said, “Gee, I wish I’d had this truck when I was 20 years old.”

Though yeah: I am here to help out my dad, and to commit my grandmother to the deep. Tomorrow I will be one of her pallbearers. On Saturday I will fly out of Knoxville to Brooklyn and stick around for probably ten days. And then I will make my way into Canada, through Montreal and Toronto and Windsor, and cross the border back into the US via Detroit. I did this drive in reverse back in November on my way to Rochester (where uhh . . . I had a strange experience with a girl I know (I don’t know if I should write about this)). The big bummer of course is that driving through that side of Canada is extremely boring and the highway speed limit is literally 60 mph the entire way. Give me a break.

WELL

. . . Abby wants to go to sleep, so I reckon it’s time. I remember a long time ago, my dad said he slept the deepest when he was at his parents’ house. Maybe because in the back of your mind you know that someone you have known your entire life will keep you safe if anything happens. There is a comfort there. It is true for me here. IN DREAMS I GO TO THAT LANDLESS LATITUDE, sleeping the sleep of a newborn baby, knowing that my dad is asleep down the hall. And on the nightstand next to him is a Glock .45 loaded with hollow point rounds, ready to shoot dead any menace real or imagined. How about that!

Sweet dreams!!! ☆彡