My Grandpa died seven years ago. About a year later I was missing him. I wrote him a little note. At a bookstore in my neighborhood there is a fiberglass statue of an old man. It is very realistic looking, and wears actual clothes, including a cardigan. I slipped the note into the pocket of the cardigan, as sort of an offering at the altar of grandpas. I never checked on it again, because I preferred to imagine that my grandpa had received the note.

Today I saw that note again. A man visiting my city from hundreds of miles away posted a copy of it on his Facebook page. He found it miles from where I had left it, just laying on the ground near a movie theater. A friend of mine saw the note and recognized my name and handwriting. It's a mystery to me how it got there and why. So strange. My grandpa's birthday is next month. Last night I was thinking about him a lot. I ate a plate of fried rice in his honor, as fried rice was one of my favorite dishes that he made. I even told the waitress that it was almost as good as his.

The world is a good place some days.

Edited to add:

This is the letter. Really more of a little note.