Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
My great-grandmother, Rosie Ryan, passed away two months after the day we met, but in the time between, her apartment filled with photographs, a particularly colourful afghan that Grandma crocheted, and a rich mixture of tears and laughter.
We were at her bedside when she passed. Her gaze rested on Grandma until her last breath.
Grandma also has a few new photographs in her apartment.
Louis took one of the three generations for his article, then he framed the actual picture.
One for each of us. Rosie had a few photos of her life growing up, and she gave Grandma all that she had.
Then, after Rosie died, Grandma kept the framed photograph of her father, Damien, on her nightstand, next to one of her mother.
Around the corner of the frame, she hung the very old brass key.
Grandma also got that other thing that she wanted: she watched Matthew and me walk down the aisle a few months later. We saw no reason to wait. She even got up to dance with him at the reception. I was right: they adore each other. He and I share the Chinese food deliveries to her place.
I gave Grandma one more framed photograph last week, though I still don’t think she understands what she’s seeing when she looks at the ultrasound.
All she needs to know is that we’re having a baby girl in a few months.
Her name will be Rosie Mary Buchanan, and we cannot wait to tell her all our stories, over and over again.