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

house was there the way it had always been. The painted wood. The roof I had replaced in 2011. The front walk that needed repointing in one section. The garage light glowing because I had left it on when I left that morning.

My house.

My street.

The only place I had ever particularly wanted to be.

I got out of the car and went inside.