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

own family crisis right now.” But Margaret kept asking for him. Even in her final days, when the morphine made everything fuzzy, she’d squeeze my hand and whisper, “Is David coming today?

He never came.” At the service, Margaret’s sister, Helen, sat beside me, dabbing her eyes with tissues. Our neighbors filled the pews behind us.

Margaret’s co-workers continue reading …