"Hey Connor, make sure you clock out on time, alright?" my boss said.
"Alright, thank you," I replied, flashing a tired smile.
I scanned my ID and clocked out. It wasn't a glamorous job—just my first one. I worked as a cashier at a gift shop inside a theme park. The pay wasn't great, but honestly, I liked it there.
As I walked to my car, I noticed a little girl holding hands with her grandfather. It made me smile—and reminded me.
"That reminds me, I should probably call Poppop and see how he's doing," I muttered.
I pulled out my phone, scrolled to his contact, and called. Straight to voicemail.
What's he up to?
My grandfather lived alone ever since my grandmother passed away. Most of the time he was either watching TV or outside fishing. He wasn't great with phones—refused to get a smartphone, even in 2025. Instead, he used a flip phone, the same kind he'd had for years.
"Hey Poppop, just checking in. I might stop by later to see how you're doing. Love you, and I miss ya."
I opened my car door and texted my dad to let him know I was heading to Poppop's house. This was my dad's dad, so he'd want to know.
The drive only took about ten minutes. His car was in the driveway, so he hadn't gone anywhere. I walked up and tried the door—it was unlocked.
I stepped inside. "Poppop? It's Connor—your favorite grandson. Just dropping by to say hi."
The house was quiet. Nothing seemed out of place—until I got to his bedroom.
There he was, lying on the bed. Still.
I rushed to him and shook his shoulder. "Poppop?"
No response.
"Shit."
My hands trembled as I called 911. The dispatcher stayed on the line until the ambulance arrived. One of the police officers asked what happened.
"I came to check on him," I said. "I walked in and found him like that. I tried yelling and shaking him, but… he wouldn't wake up."
A medic came out of the room. His expression told me everything before he even spoke.
"Just breathe, sir. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this—but your grandfather has passed away. If there's any family you'd like to call, now's the time."
"Yeah… can I call my dad and my aunt?"
My grandfather had two children—my dad and my aunt.
I called my dad first. "Hey, Dad. Can you come down to Poppop's house? It's urgent."
"Sure. Why? What happened?"
"Just get down here."
Then I called my aunt.
"Hi, Connor," she answered.
"Hey. Can you come down to Poppop's house? It's urgent. I already called your brother and told him to get his ass down here."
"I'll be there in a few."
I waited outside. My dad arrived first, pulling up beside the ambulance.
"What happened?" he asked.
One of the medics stepped forward. "Mr. Stuven, your son came here to check on your father. I'm very sorry, but… your father has passed."
First his mother, now his father.
My mom was with him, holding his hand as the news hit him.
Then my aunt pulled into the driveway.
"Are you Mr. Stuven's daughter?" the medic asked.
"Yes, sir," she said.
"I'm sorry to inform you—your father has passed away."
She broke down instantly, collapsing into tears next to my dad, her husband, my mother, and me.
"I hate to interrupt," the medic added gently, "but do you know if he wanted to be cremated or buried?"
"Cremated," my dad replied quietly. "Just like my mom."
"In that case, if you'd like to say goodbye one last time before we take him, now's the moment."
"Can we get our kids here?" my aunt asked.
"Of course. We won't take him until you give us the word."
The rest of the day was a blur. I stood in a fog, supporting my cousins as they arrived, each one saying goodbye with tear-filled eyes.
A few days later, we held his funeral.
I sat through every second of it.
At the end, we brought him to rest beside my grandmother. We had a new headstone made—engraved for both of them, together again at last.
The days that followed were brutal.
We spent them cleaning out my grandfather's house. We needed to sell it, but first we had to sort through everything. Whatever we wanted to keep, we did. The rest? Trash.
I wandered through the house for what might be the last time. Something about it felt heavy. Nostalgic. Like the walls were still echoing memories—of laughter, of Thanksgiving dinners, of family.
All of it… gone.
I headed to my grandfather's bedroom. Opened the closet.
On the top shelf sat something I hadn't seen in years.
A glass case. Inside, a mask.
The mask.
The one he used to tell stories about. The one he swore had a soul.
I pulled it down and showed it to my cousin.
"Do you remember this?" I asked.
"Oh my god. You found the damn mask," he said, almost laughing. "You wanna take it home with you?"
"Fuck no," he said immediately.
"Well… looks like I'll take it."
"Why?"
"Because—real or not—it's a memory. A piece of Poppop we shared."
He looked at me and nodded. "You better take good care of it."
"Don't worry. I will."
I stared into the mask's eyes through the glass.
And for a moment…
It felt like it was staring back.
Breathing.
Waiting.