Eggs for Breakfast
The day he died, grandma had made him eggs for breakfast. Usually she scrambled two and left them plain, and then grandpa would squeeze on half a bottle of ketchup himself. But this particular morning, grandma decided to melt some cheese and fry some turkey bacon (it was on sale that week), to put alongside his breakfast. The coffee wasn’t extra strong, but served the way it always was, with a dribble of milk and two spoons of sugar. (Grandpa liked his coffee the way he liked his conversation, light and sweet.) The morning paper’s headline shouted out nothing more spectacular than the day before, and the sun was shining just as brightly as any other April morning that week. Yet at precisely 8:14 am, grandpa’s heart stopped beating and so his breakfast went cold and had to be thrown away.
The day he died, grandma had made him eggs for breakfast. Usually she scrambled two and left them plain, and then grandpa would squeeze on half a bottle of ketchup himself. But this particular morning, grandma decided to melt some cheese and fry some turkey bacon (it was on sale that week), to put alongside his breakfast. The coffee wasn’t extra strong, but served the way it always was, with a dribble of milk and two spoons of sugar. (Grandpa liked his coffee the way he liked his conversation, light and sweet.) The morning paper’s headline shouted out nothing more spectacular than the day before, and the sun was shining just as brightly as any other April morning that week. Yet at precisely 8:14 am, grandpa’s heart stopped beating and so his breakfast went cold and had to be thrown away.
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