Over the phone I heard his almost five-year-old voice. “Thank you for the shells, Grammy!”

I thought about my sweet grandson while I picked up shells on the beach and made a nest of them from big to little. Our boy likes to organize.

And he loves to think. He asked his mom if I killed the clams that used to live in those shells. He plays “what animal am I?” and stumps his smart parents. The kid cracks me up.

I miss this boy’s face and his giggles and his hugs. I just met him five years ago. I can’t imagine the world without him.


5 thoughts on “Happiness is a bunch of shells

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