"Lainey," he started slowly, "I am going to give you this business card, and if anything should ever happen to me, this man is who you need to call."
The card was his attorney's, who, Grandpa explained to me, had all the arrangements.
"Hey," I said with a worried look on my face, "why are you giving this to me now? What's going on?"
"Nothing, Lainey, but you never know when something might happen and I want you to be prepared."
I remember shoving that card in the back of my wallet, thinking...almost praying, that I wouldn't have to look it again until it had faded to a yellow, rotten, faded peice of worthless cardboard.
On December 24th, 2002, at 1:47 a.m., I dug in the back of my wallet, blinded with tears, and pulled out the sickeningly crisp and white business card. And called the man in charge of my Grandpa's death.
I can't do this yet.