The inertia of his belongings puzzled me: The cracked leather slippers that seemed still to contain his feet, the neat roll of half-eaten mints, the sweat-burnished wallet — My grandfather’s passing when I was a child introduced me to the strange stillness left to survivors. For reasons I no longer recall, I wrapped his gold wire glasses in the belt of my brown corduroy coat, dug my fingernails deep into the soft moss of the backyard, and buried them.
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