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I hesitated before moving him onto the tablecloth. Would he want to be buried in his nightshirt? A smile skirted across my face before I could stop it. I thought I heard him chuckle, but his body was as still as ever. He once told me that death is the eternal sleep. What could be more fitting than his nightshirt? Might be more comfortable than forcing him to wear tight clothing for eternity. He’d understand.
I covered him with the tablecloth, but it sent an icy chill through me. I was supposed to cover his face. That’s what people would expect. But I couldn’t force myself to do it. He had such a kind face. I folded the tablecloth down below his chin. It looked like he was asleep.
An owl hooted outside. I wondered where King George was, if he knew that Grandfather was gone. Maybe that’s why King George had left us, to prepare a place for this old soldier. I sniffed and wiped a tear from my face. Silly to cry about a dead parrot, I told myself.
The first tear gave way to another, and then another. I passed the night kneeling by the side of the finest man I had ever known, praying that the morning would not come.