My Parents Left Grandma at a Nursing Facility—Then a Brown Suitcase Led Us to the Deed Recorded in My Father’s Name

I started to fold it for my wallet.

“No,” she said.

“It belongs here.

You can photograph it.”

I did, then returned it.

It was a small correction.

I needed it.

After weeks of collecting documents, I was beginning to carry things away automatically, as though being useful meant keeping them myself.