My mother often told me, “Don’t sit on Grandpa’s lap.” I never understood why. One day, I didn’t listen to her and sat down anyway. Grandpa smiled, leaned close to my ear, and whispered, “Can you come sleep beside me tonight?”

When I was five years old, I had once told Grandpa:

“One day, I want to stay awake all night with you and watch shooting stars.”

I had completely forgotten about it.

He hadn’t.

That night, there was going to be a rare meteor shower, and Grandpa had spent months repairing Grandma’s old telescope so he could fulfill my childhood wish before his surgery.

Around two in the morning, the three of us were lying on the porch.

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I was on my mattress.

Grandpa was on his.