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

Robert. He was crying, too.

That night, we walked slowly through the neighborhood. We bought warm pretzels from a street cart, even though the doctor strictly forbade the salt. I handed him a piece.

“Just don’t die on me today,” I said. “And if I do?” “I’m opening the casket.”

Robert let out a booming laugh that startled a flock of pigeons. I laughed,continue reading …