The ornately framed picture hung predominately on grandma’s wall for years, while smaller pictures of her grandchildren hung, like an afterthought, around the over-sized eyesore.
Grandma noticed me studying it with a critical eye.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” she said with a smile.
I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but lovely did not come to mind.
Dark. Gloomy. Despair. Decay.
Her eyes roved tenderly over the framed picture and I could have sworn I saw a light
glow faintly from one of the doors.
“Soon, my dear George.” she whispered her late husband’s name. “I will be there soon.”