The Morning After My Son’s Funeral, an Airport Worker Called and Said, “Your Son Checked In”

four decades and seeing none of them clearly. All I could think was that my son had been trying to tell me something in his last weeks, and I had mistaken his silence for exhaustion.

The airport worker handed me a navy blue carry-on. Inside the lining, in David’s handwriting, was his name.

I carried it back to my car before I opened it.

On top was his continue reading …