My dad gave me a chocolate heart the other day. I haven't eaten, just carried it around with me in my pocket. It's gotten a little worn in places, silver shining through the red foil. I like it think it makes it look cared for instead of neglected. My aunt, my dad's only sibling, often sends him care packages. It's an immensely kind way to show that she's thinking of him and to try and bring him joy--not an easy feat these days. She ships them to me and I walk them over to my father's care home and help him open them. They're usually filled with sweets, especially chocolates, small toys, and puzzles for the mind. I help him pile out the non-edibles and set them gently on his coffee table. He then starts to open the candies and try them out. Sometimes they are new or, perhaps, simply new to him at this stage in his life. He often offers me some, but since I dutifully wear a mask around him, I usually decline. The mask helps protect him from anything I may car...