My Grandma Is Telling Me From the Beyond To Write My Book

I haven’t called her in six years.

My grandma (young, lovely) and my dad (a baby, really) feeding the pigeons in the 60s or early 70s.

My wife and I got tattoos at a new-to-us shop a couple weeks ago. Next to us in the back were two college-age young women, each getting a tattoo of a butterfly with the year “1943” written down its body. Later we asked each other: did you see them? What could that have meant?