There was nothing to say that would have helped, and my grandmother was not a woman who wanted her grief managed or talked away.

So I simply stood beside her at the railing, in the cooling evening, and let her look at the empty road for as long as she needed to, and I understood that the kindest and truest thing I could do, in that moment, was exactly what my parents had proven themselves incapable of: to stay.

To be present.

To not leave.

To stand beside a grieving old woman on a porch and require nothing of her, offer nothing but company, and not go anywhere at all.