out to have understood everything, and loved more than he could ever say, and found a way to say it anyway, after he was gone, to the son he’d spent a lifetime dimming and secretly treasuring.
Here’s what I learned, watching my brother read a letter in a red suit at our father’s grave.
Some people can only tell you they love you after they’re gone, and you have to let that be enough. Our father was too rigid, too frightened, too much a product of a world that punished
