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

She’s ninety-one and sharper than either of us.

And every so often, when the house gets quiet enough that I can hear that refrigerator humming from two rooms away, I go out and stand on the porch and put my hand on that crooked baluster.

My son asked me for two things.

I got them both done.