Sometimes, the people left behind don’t make it any easier.
I remember being “that guy” who was enlisted to help an obviously not grieving granddaughter with a shotgun her grandfather brought back from Europe when his war ended. She knew nothing about his service or the gun, and, made it clear as could be that she wanted it out of the house. She did have an 8X10 photo that was displayed on his casket, he was guarding a pretty much destroyed building in what appeared to be France. I recognized his uniform and asked her if “The Big Red One” meant anything to her. She hissed like a viper that she didn’t care and reiterated that she wanted the damn gun out of her house.
You win, babe. Bend over.
Best,
Ted
