became Ezra’s lifeline to the outside world. As he aged, the simple act of driving became a Herculean task, so I took over the shopping entirely. Every Sunday morning, I would pull into his driveway with a list he had meticulously handwritten on the back of old envelopes. It was never about the items themselves, but about the ritual of the delivery.
In the beginning, Ezra was fiercely independent and tried to press crumpled bills into my hand every time I arrived. I refused every single time, insisting that the
