On the Tuesday before Hallowe’en, at 11:20 at night, my phone rang. Through the wonder of call display, I saw that it was my sister in Winnipeg calling. That time of night, it’s probably not going to be good news.

My grandfather had died at 11:00 that night. He was 88 years old, and he went, like Grandma in April, quietly in his sleep.

Grandpa and Grandma

Grandpa and Cedric
The oldest Hrushowy in our line with the youngest in his arms.

Pat, Grandpa, and Kathleen

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