Walker
Walker
Epilogue
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When my maternal grandma died a few years ago at 93, I wasn’t sure if I should fly home for the funeral. I hadn’t been particularly close with her, although I had plenty of pleasant memories of arriving at her house on a holiday, the air heavy with the aroma of homemade pies. 

She had lived her own remarkable life and she had always been kind to me. Yet last-minute airfare was steep, so I hesitated to say yes. Tossing this around with my sons over dinner, Jackson said, “I know when my grandma dies, I’m going to the funeral. I like her.” Sometimes it really is that simple…