Dad pulled our car into Grandma and Grandpa’s long driveway. A huge open-house was about to get underway in celebration of my grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary.

We walked toward the stoop where Grandma and Grandpa stood waiting.

“Oh my gosh, I don’t believe it,” whispered Dad.

“Is he wearing what I think he’s wearing?” asked Mom.

“Yup, that’s his burial suit all right,” said Dad.

“What’s a burial suit?” I asked.

“Shhh, he’ll hear you. I’ll explain later.”

The second we kissed Grandma and Grandpa goodbye and headed down their driveway, I asked, “So what’s a burial suit, Dad? I thought Grandpa looked nice.”

“Yes, he did,” agreed Dad.

I paid close attention as he enlightened me on Grandpa’s suit. “When Dad (Grandpa) turned seventy (five years before I was born), he figured he didn’t have much longer to live, so he bought a suit to be buried in. It’s been sitting, unworn, in his closet for the past sixteen years.”

“And that’s the suit he wore today?” I asked.

“Since it’s the only suit he owns, yes,” answered Dad.

“And that’s what he’s going to wear when he dies?” I asked, for absolute clarification.

“I presume it still is,” said Dad.

“Wow.” I wished I’d had this information at the party. I’d have studied Grandpa’s suit much more closely.

Grandpa’s suit lay dormant for many more years. He lived to the ripe old age of ninety-four.

Lesson Learned: A multipurpose suit suited Grandpa just fine.