I asked whether he wanted it in a box or his backpack.

He thought for a moment.

“Backpack,” he said.

Then he slipped it into a side pocket without hiding it in the bear.

I found my father’s note in the closing folder and framed it for the new hallway.

For the life you are building, not the walls around it.

Noah asked what it meant.

I told him Grandpa thought a home was something people made together, not just a building they owned.