sitting in the brightest suit in the graveyard, learning that the thing he’d thought was his father’s disappointment had been, all along, his father’s fear of how much he loved him.My brother wore a bright red suit to our father’s funeral, and I was furious.
I thought he was being disrespectful.
He was being brave—
exactly as brave as our dying father had prayed he’d become.
Because sewn into the lining of that impossible red suit
was the letter our father spent sixty years too scared to write,
and
