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Grandpa had that “old man” way of talking. You know, with the mumbly-grumbly sound. Almost like his mouth was full, and his throat was scratchy, but the thing was, they weren’t. It was the same sound you hear emitted out of the mouth of most old men. Whether they’re the pleasant kind, or the old grumps who are devastated they no longer have a sex-drive.

Grandma on the other hand still had that sweet young tone in her voice. Sometimes I could swear she could get as high a tone out of her as the tweens walking through the mall gasping at the on sale, one-hundred dollar pants from “Abercrombie” or something like that.

And that’s what I remembered. As I lay there in bed, now an orphan. Their voices. Mom and dad had been gone my entire life, but Grandpa, he had been daddy. And Grandma, more of a mother than I could ever ask for. And now, at twenty years old, I was finally on my own. Of course, you expect older people to die. And I knew the time would come. But now it was me, me and that blasted dog I was forced to call my best friend. Without his comforting fur, I would be completely, and, well, utterly alone.