My Grandmother Heidi sat outside our small cottage in Pensville suburb. The sun was slowly setting beyond the horizon. Husbands and wives walked their children in the cool evening. Bachelors walked their dogs, others had their evening jogs and exercises and spinsters sat out on their front porch watching the single men pass while they blushed and gossiped. Grandma Heidi waved to everyone who passed by our fence and waved at her. Some of them stopped by to say hello while others moved on their way, so as not to disturb her usual evening meditation.

I stood by the window and watched her smile at the passing neighbors. Grandma Heidi was one of the oldest persons in the suburb along with Pa Alonso who had died earlier that year from cancer. Pa Alonso was one of Ma's closest friends. Other friends were Betty Whish, Paulo Rush, Unity King and so many others she never talked to who either died or were moved to other states by their children. Her greatest memories were with Alonso, Betty, and Unity. She would talk about them playing board games, having evening tea, and talking about the neighbors that had moved out, died, or married. Paulo died from grief five months after his son was killed in a gunfight in the suburb. After his death, they seldom came together as they used to and soon enough, Betty and Unity were moved upstate by their children. Ma's remaining companion, Alonso died shortly after. She never talked about what kind of relationship she had with him especially, only that Grandpa never approved. He complained a lot about the times they spent on their porch and she stopped talking to him altogether. She only told me that Pa Hart and Alonso never got along and it was her fault. I always wished she'd share why but she was so secretive.

On this particular day, she was sad. I knew she was because after all her meet and greet, her countenance would change again. She was smiling to put up a front for the neighbors cause they knew her as a jovial old woman. I knew something was eating her deep inside and it wasn't a matter of the physical appearance, it was an emotional hurt. She had stayed without a companion or friend and it showed on her face every day. She cleared her throat and called out to me. I quietly moved from the window, far into the kitchen, and answered her.

"Child, do you mind getting my diary in my old trunk, under the bed? Spice that up with a hot cup of chocolate, just the way I like it," she gave that fake smile again. I smiled back and did as she asked. Walking into Grandma's room, I looked at the photo frames on her wall. She had pictures with her friends, with Pa with Alonso and with my parents. I looked at my parent's picture frame and ran my finger on my mother's face. I closed my eyes and the image of us tumbling down the alley flashed in my head and I gasped. I blinked back the tears that were welling up in my eyes. Pa had taught me from one of his books that forgiving oneself of guilt was one thing; forgetting was another. He had also told me that if we kept relieving our guilt over and over, it won't give God room to come in and take them away. The only thing suppressed guilt did was eat away fond memories until they were nothing. All that was left were wishes of things that should have been but weren't and that was the worst of them all. I pushed the thoughts aside. Grams had sent me on an errand and I needed to go meet her before she froze on the porch. Pulling the dusty box from under her bed, I removed the webs that dangled on the lock. The box had markings on them that I didn't understand but it was an old box so it would have meant something to the carpenter who carved it. I removed the brown diary that was tied together with some letters and pushed the box back. Getting to the counter in the kitchen, I picked her favorite cup that Grandpa had gotten her two years before he died. It had fallen and chipped on the edge and cut her finger on the day she felt something had gone wrong with Grandpa and she had been right. She chose to use the cup even when I was afraid it would hurt her.

"Here you are Grams," I handed the mug to her and the diary. She smiled and took the diary first, kept it on the blanket on her lap, then got the cup. I sat beside her and watched the sun go down over the horizon. The silence between us was deafening but we enjoyed it even more. We both had a lot to think about; Grams thought of her losses and failures and I thought of her pain, my pain, and the guilt Pa carried with him from war to the great beyond. I knew she had much to say and she also knew I had questions regarding the letters that were on her laps but I needed her to talk about it herself.

"This was my favorite time of the day Grace; the sunset. I'd sit here with your Pa, your uncles Waltz and Palmer, and your mother. Sometimes, we'd push the dining table close to the window right here to eat dinner and watch the sun go to sleep. Those were better times Grace. When Waltz left home to join the army, your Pa was devastated. I knew how he felt because Pa had been there. He left a vibrant man and came back broken. That was to be Waltz's fate. We could have done better to change his mind but he was as stubborn as the old man when he was younger," she sipped the hot chocolate from the mug and kept staring straight into the horizon. I glanced at her and saw tears gathering in her eyes. Oh God, how much hurt did she have to endure before she met with you? In the mind of a young lady who had seen enough pain in our family, I wasn't so keen on believing in God as Grams did. She put her complete trust in Him. Sometimes, I'd hear her cry and pray and I would wait for the results without any hope. Heidi closed her eyes to block out the face her husband had when he received Waltz in a box along with some letters Waltz wrote but never sent. She was away in Collonie for a nursing campaign and got relieved of her duties at the front when she fell ill. She moved back immediately after she received the news of his death and things were never the same again. It was the last time Pa Hart ever smiled, even at her. I looked at her face and not even a smile broke out. The tears she tried to blink away were gathering again. Whatever guilt she held onto, it had changed her after Pa died. He was one of the reasons she smiled and when he lost himself before his death, she was lost too. She handed the mug to me and touched my cheek. The tears dropped from my eyes. Her wrinkled palms were still soft like she was a young girl. She cleaned my eyes and gave me a sad smile. Her wedding band was fading slowly but it didn't matter to her. She never took it off, even to have her bath. It was her life and she was trying to hang on to that.

"It's getting cold Grace. The sun's gone. We should get inside," she tried to stand and I dropped the mug to help her. Picking her walking aid, she smiled at me and walked away with the diary. I smiled back. As feeble as she was, she held onto the book. A part of me wished she'd forgotten it so I could read what made her sob at night when she thought I'd gone to bed. "I can take it from here," she paused by the bedroom door. I wanted to speak but she continued "It's fine Grace. I can take care of myself from here. You have done enough for me over the years," she smiled. "You sleep well dear. Thank you."

I hesitated but the plea in her eyes made me retreat the gnawing urge to disobey her and take her into her room and tuck her into sleep. "Goodnight grandma. If you need anything, just call me." She nodded and turned into her room, closing the door behind her. I waited till her bed creaked before I moved to the kitchen. The air smelled of her hot chocolate coffee. I poured the coffee into the sink and washed the mug and hung it on the mug holder. Sitting down, I glanced at the furniture in the kitchen. The house smelled of old cotton blankets but a good kind of smell. The woods were always polished weekly to Gram's satisfaction. I pulled my parent's picture from my pocket. I hoped Grandma won't notice that it was gone. I didn't know when a tear dropped on my father's face. How long had it been since the accident and how long had I blamed myself for that day? Grandma Heidi had taken custody after their funeral and I'd only known love and care from her and the neighbours. I sniffed. This was not the first time I was crying for my parents and I knew it won't be the last. I looked at the time on the small round clock hanging by the wall. It had Pa and Gram's picture of their youth inside. Engraved on the outer layer of the clock was "With all my heart, Bernard Hart." I yawned; it was a few minutes past the AM. It was going to be a busy day for me and I needed my strength for it. Unity and Betty's children were bringing their mothers back to the suburb for the summer. I was so excited to finally meet them. Tonight, my request to the big Man if he was listening was to keep Grams alive.