My son didn’t show up at my wife’s funeral. Hours …

morning, exactly 8 months after Margaret’s funeral.

I was in her garden preparing the roses for winter when I heard footsteps on the path behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Hello, David.

He looked terrible. Thin, unshaven, wearing clothes that hadn’t been washed in days. The desperate anger that had sustained him through months continue reading …