RUPERT

My grandfather's name was Rupert. He moved in with us while my grandmother spent the last years of her life, dying of Alzheimer's. He was retired Navy, a ham radio operator who served in WW2. Every year for Christmas, he would renew my membership to the Ranger Rick club. I would get a thin glossy magazine each month and a pack of 5 collecting cards of exotic animals I would then file alphabetically in this big green plastic box I was also given. But it wasn't until one day I asked my mother, "Why do I keep getting all this stupid stuff anyway?",  that I knew it was him. I'll never forget the look my mother gave me upon hearing that. "Nice," she said, "real nice. Your grandfather sends you those. I'll be sure to tell him how much you like them." She turned and walked away in disgust. I still have no idea why I said it like that. It was so nasty and it didn't make any sense because it was one of my favorite things in the world, getting them in the mail each month. Even when I got older, I would sometimes take that green box out and flip through those cards. Till the day my grandmother died, 7 days a week, rain or shine, my grandfather would wake up at 6:00 a.m., hit the bathroom, get himself dressed, quickly eat, and then he would go down to the nursing home where he would sit on a chair beside her all day until dinner. He would eat with us, watch a little tv, then he would go to bed. After my grandmother died, he decided to move back Florida. They found him dead not long after in the hallway of the brand new trailer he bought. His name was Rupert. Oh, I forgot I already told you that.