The Morning After My Son’s Funeral An Airport Worker Called About The Bag He Left Behind

photographs without expression. “How did you come by these?”

“They were in my son’s files, in my garage, on my property.”

One nod. “Sufficient.”

On the ninth day, Tara slipped an envelope under my bedroom door. Inside was a handwritten page explaining that as David’s widow she had an emotional connection to the house deserving thoughtful consideration.continue reading …