My grandfather was just technologically apt enough to send e-mails, provided that nobody moved his icons, which would disrupt his very detailed checklist of motions. A few days after he died I received an e-mail from him, and the subject read: Final Transmission. It honestly took me a few hours before I could summon the courage to open the damn thing. It was my dad writing from my grandfather’s e-mail address to say that he had packed up the house, and was returning home. I haven’t deleted it, and it still gives me goosebumps when I see it in my folder.

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