I’m sorry, Grandfather. I’m sorry that this is how it ends for you. I’m sorry that your last words were not ones said surrounded by family and friends. I’m sorry that you died alone in hospice and that you left the world without anyone by your side. I know that it’s too late, but we are here. And whether you can or can’t see us, you were our grandfather and we’ll always love you,” Noah finished.

Josie, you were my first grandchild. There was so much that I wanted to do right by you. I had so many hopes and dreams for you that I never got to share. I know that it was my fault. I was the one who created a toxic environment, causing your parents to alienate you from me. But it’s my dying wish that you please find it in your heart to forgive me for not being the grandfather you deserved.

War does terrible things to people, Noah. It haunts them in ways that I hope you will never have to live through or experience. This doesn’t make what I did right. But what you did for your brother made you a man in my eyes that day.

Mr. Hinkle felt like an intruder. Yet he couldn’t pull himself away. It was thirty minutes. It was a lifetime of pain. It was a mountain of misunderstandings. It was a flood of vulnerability. So many emotions erupted from every nook and cranny of that room. He couldn’t call it healing because here was no closure. There was no moving past this. If anything, there’d only be regret and sorrow. Mr. Hinkle whispered the two words synonymous with too late: “If only.

Hurt people hurt people,” Mr. Hinkle said. “They can change it by taking small steps and choosing to make a change. It still doesn’t change the fact that hurt people hurt people.