My Grandson Called Me In The Middle Of The Night: ‘Grandma, I’m At The Station… My Stepfather Told Me To Leave, And Now He’s Saying I Caused Trouble, And They Took His Word!’ When I Arrived At The Station, The Officer Paused And Said, ‘I’m Sorry… I DIDN’T KNOW.’

I asked, already swinging my legs over the side of the bed, my mind shifting into the focused clarity I developed during 30 years on the federal bench.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

“The central precinct on Middle Street,” he replied. “Robert and I got into an argument after mom left for her night shift. He found me talking to you on the phone earlier and completely lost it.

Said I wasn’t allowed to contact you without his permission.”

My jaw tightened at this. Tyler had been calling me regularly since my son Michael died seven years ago. Those calls had become our ritual, our way of maintaining the connection that death had threatened to sever.

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