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

confused. Of the doctor in the white coat. Of William waiting in the old cab with the headlights off.

“I wasn’t brave,” I whispered. “I was terrified.”

Robert’s fingers tightened around mine. “Bravery almost always arrives trembling.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. And for the first time since the funeral, I closed my eyes without seeing a mahogany continue reading …