Chapter 28
The next few years were gentle.
We traveled.
We took the train across the country.
We saw the Grand Canyon.
The Redwoods.
The Atlantic.
The Pacific.
We held hands the whole way.
We spent as much time with the kids and grandkids and great-grandkids as we could.
Every Sunday was family dinner.
No exceptions.
Twenty or thirty people around the table.
Loud.
Chaotic.
Wonderful.
David’s health started to decline a little.
His knees hurt.
His back ached.
He moved slower.
But his mind was still sharp.
His heart was still strong.
And he still told the same bad jokes.
Over and over.
And we still laughed.
Every time.
One Sunday, after dinner, David gathered everyone in the living room.
He was sitting in his favorite chair.
The big leather one by the fireplace.
I sat on the arm next to him.
He held my hand.
“I have something I want to say,” he said.
The room went quiet.
All the kids.
All the grandkids.
All the great-grandkids.
They stopped talking.
They looked at him.
“I’m eighty years old,” David said. “Your grandma is eighty. We’ve had a good life. A great life. Better than we ever deserved. And we’ve been thinking… about the future. About what happens when we’re gone.”
He paused.
He squeezed my hand.
“We’ve made arrangements,” he said. “The house stays in the family. Forever. No selling. No dividing. It’s a home. For all of you. For your kids. For their kids. It will always be here. Always be yours. A place to come when you’re happy. When you’re sad. When you need to feel safe. Just like it was for us.”
He looked at Leo.
At DJ.
At Trey.
Five generations.
“All the money,” he said. “The businesses. The investments. It all goes into the foundation. Every penny. To help more kids. To build more safe houses. To fight for the ones who can’t fight for themselves. We don’t want you fighting over money. We don’t want it to tear you apart. You have each other. That’s the only inheritance that matters.”
He looked at each of them in turn.
“Promise me something,” he said. “All of you. Promise me that no matter what happens… you’ll stick together. That you’ll choose each other. That you’ll love each other. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. That’s the only thing that lasts. The only thing that’s real. Love. Family. Everything else is just… stuff.”
There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.
“We promise, Dad,” Leo said.
“We promise, Papa,” DJ said.
“Good,” David said. He smiled. “Good. Now. Who wants ice cream? I bought three flavors. Your grandma says I spoil you. And she’s right. And I don’t care.”
The room erupted in laughter.
And chaos.
And love.
I looked at my husband.
My love.
My life.
And I knew.
Whatever time we had left…
It was enough.
May you like
Because we’d already lived a hundred lifetimes in one.
And we’d done it together.
