“It’s like I always say,” gramps puffed out his cheeks and sat up tall in his bed. “Life is like a sharp stick. It leaves splinters after it pokes you.”

“Gramps, you need to rest now,” Mom said. “Don’t worry about those old memories.”

“The splinters don’t hurt unless you press on them by accident. And Mabel, she pressed on the splinter in my heart.”

He put his hand to his chest. “She’ll never love me, after all these years, and here I am dying, I guess it just don’t matter.”