Ronan

Quincy, Massachusetts, 2001…

Twelve year old O'Mara's feet pinched in his too-small dress shoes.

The new necktie his mother found for him at Goodwill was suffocating him, but worst of all his heart was broken.

His grandfather, Declan Hennessey, his mother's father, was dead.

Gramps had been the only male role model in 's life after his father, John, left the family when he was a toddler.

From that moment on, his grandfather had always been there for him, through thick and thin.

He'd taught to throw a punch when he'd come home from school crying after being bullied.

Gramps listened with a sympathetic ear when voiced concerns that he might like guys instead of girls.

What was going to do without him?

This was only the second funeral had ever attended.

The first was for their neighbor who'd been in her nineties when she died.

The funeral mass had been just a regular Sunday service, but for the fact that there was a gleaming casket sitting in the middle of aisle.

At Gramps's funeral, there was no casket, just a podium with a polished black urn sitting atop it.

had no idea how his grandfather could possibly fit inside the small container, which was about the size of a Kleenex box.

Before they'd gotten to the church Erin had explained that Gramps wanted to be cremated, so that his ashes could be united with his wife, Gwen's, after her death.

thought cremation was badass, going out in a blaze of glory, like a Viking funeral.

Reaching for his mother's arm, rested his head on her shoulder.

Erin O'Mara had always been strong, but he'd seen quite a different side of her over the last few days.

She'd been quiet and sullen, often crying alone in her room.

had taken it upon himself to be the strong one while his mother grieved.

He'd been the one making dinners- reheating casseroles sympathetic neighbors had dropped off – doing the dishes, and making sure his mother took her vitamins and brushed her teeth before bed.

was going to make a damn good father one day, that was for sure.

When the mass ended.

Erin and her mother lined up behind the priest, who carried the urn toward the back of the church.

He took their hands and walked between them.

He'd been stunned when, moments later, Father O'Callaghan handed the urn to Erin, who walked back to their car with it in her hands.

She placed it on the floor behind the driver's seat and had cautioned not to kick it, before she helped her mother into the passenger seat.

The idea of his grandfather's remains spilling in the backseat of his mother's Oldsmobile was terrifying.

Would Gramps haunt them because part of his left foot was sprinkled on the rug? Another, more terrifying thought struck, where were Gramps' ashes going?

Would his mother stick his urn on the coffee table? With the flour and sugar canisters in the kitchen? On his bedroom dresser next to his statue of the Virgin Mary?

He was about to ask his mother, but when he saw her brushing away tears, he kept his question to himself.

They'd be home in ten minutes and his question would be answered then.

As the car pulled away from the church, more questions peppered 's mind.

What would happen to Gram now that Gramps was dead? Would she go to live in a rest home like Ralph Matthew's grandmother or would she come live with them like Skippy O'Hearn's grandmother?

How would she afford food and electricity? Would Gram have to live on the streets like a bag lady with all of her worldly goods in a dinged up grocery cart?

Being an adult was scary business.

At twelve, he knew he only had six years to get his act together before he turned eighteen and became an adult himself.

How the hell was he going to afford an apartment, electricity, a bitching video game system? 's head spun.

As the man of the family, it was now up to him to fill Gramps's shoes.

knew there was no way he could live up to the man his grandfather was, but he was damn sure going to try.