Thought.is

A swell of tearful relatives arrived, many elderly, with their familiar accents and papery hands and plates of baklava; kissing me on the cheeks, embracing my Grandmother. My prim, dignified Grandmother; always the lady, hardly had a tearful moment over the course of those few days. She spoke kind words, murmured, “Nick, you’re all right now,” but never a crack in her voice, never a tear.