My Grandfather’s Suicide
By Jane Anderson
New Ulm, Minnesota
1975
About 9 years old
My mother cried after hanging up the phone. It was the first time I saw her cry. Usually, she was angry and anxious. I remember sitting on his lap with the rough whiskers on his cheek rubbing against mine. He smiled. I remember his bitter body odor and just wanted to get away from him. The air in his small apartment was heavy and stale. I wondered where he had kept his gun.