Grandfather did not come to breakfast.
Mother found him still in bed. He was awake, but very weak. He asked to be carried outside, to sit under the great ancient olive tree in the courtyard. Father lifted him gently, carrying him as easily as Grandfather used to carry the boys.
The whole family gathered around the wooden chair in the morning light. Mother held Grandfather's hand. Father stood tall behind him.
Grandfather was not afraid. He looked at Steve and Kynthos, his eyes still bright and clear.
"I want to tell you the most important thing I know," Grandfather said, his voice a raspy whisper.
The boys leaned in.
"You will die."
Steve blinked, stunned. Kynthos’s lower lip began to tremble. Mother put her arms around both of them, pulling them close.
"Not today," Grandfather smiled softly. "Probably not for a very long time. But one day, the sun will set, and you will not see it rise again. And that is not a tragedy, boys. That is what makes every single sunrise precious."
A gentle breeze rustled the silver leaves of the olive tree above them.
"If the sun never set, you would never notice the light," Grandfather continued. "It is because our time is short that it matters what we do with it."
He looked over at the juvenile olive sapling they had planted together in the dirt earlier that year. "I will not taste that tree's fruit. But you will. And that is why I helped you plant it." He looked back at Steve. "I will not be here tomorrow. But you will. And that is enough."
Grandfather pointed a shaking finger at Steve's wax tablet. For the first time ever, Grandfather took the stylus. With a trembling hand, he scratched his first and final entry himself.
That evening, as the sky turned purple and gold, Grandfather fell asleep under the olive tree. They all stood watch. Donatus slept at his feet.
He did not wake up.
The next morning, the house was devastatingly quiet. Steve was staring at the dirt, trying not to cry, feeling an immense, heavy hollow in his chest. Father sat beside Steve, saying nothing, just letting his solid presence be a comfort.
Steve picked up his wax tablet. He read what Grandfather had written. Then, through his tears, Steve picked up the stylus and wrote his own addition beneath it.
