The Stranger

The doorbell rings.

An older man is welcomed inside.

I take in every feature of him; his tan skin, neat white hair, and gentle smile.

Nothing is familiar, and yet this man is no stranger.

My mom brings the man onto the back porch to talk, but I don’t follow.

My mom knows this man.

She has ample amounts of joyful memories with him, but I have not a single one.

This man is my mom’s dad.

There is a reason I call him my “mom’s dad” as opposed to “grandpa”;

the same reason why I do not rush to the door with a smile to greet him,

and why I shake his hand instead of hugging him.

I am seventeen years old, and meeting my grandfather for the first time.

This man chose not to visit.

I pushed him out of my mind and out of my life altogether,

convincing myself that there was no point in caring about someone who evidently did not care about me.

Now it’s not that easy.

After the recent death of his wife, he’s here, in my house, and in my life.

What am I supposed to do?