During Robert’s Funeral, My Sons Stood By The Casket With Dry Eyes And Perfect Black Suits…

just to ‘protect’ me.” “There won’t be.” “No more faked deaths.”

He managed a small smile. “I hope I won’t need another one.” “If you do, I’ll bury you for real.”

He laughed, and the laugh dissolved into a cough. I rubbed his back. We were two broken, aging people, but we were alive. And that was enough to start over.

Sometimes I miss my sons. It shames continue reading …