“Then tell me!”
Richard simply closed his eyes. “Please, Tisha. Don’t ask me anything.”
Over the agonizing months that followed, Daniel still answered his phone when I called. But every single conversation eventually crashed into the exact same brick wall. “Mom, I love you. But please don’t ask me to forgive Dad.”
I hated Richard for his stubborn refusal to explain. I hated Daniel for abandoning us when we needed him most. But mostly, I hated myself. The two men I loved most in the world had torn our family apart, and as the woman who was always supposed to fix everything, I had no idea what was broken.
An Unlikely Wardrobe Choice
A sudden rustle of clothing and murmurs moved through the quiet chapel like a wave. I looked up.
The heavy wooden doors had finally opened. Daniel stood in the entryway. For a fraction of a second, all my weary eyes saw was my beautiful son. Then, the reality of what he was wearing registered.
Pink.
It wasn’t a pink dress shirt. It wasn’t some eccentric pastel suit. It was a dress. Specifically, an old, faded woman’s pink dress that fell awkwardly just below his knees. It stretched dangerously tight across his broad shoulders and looked utterly absurd paired with his formal black dress shoes.
Hushed, shocked whispers rippled through the pews. Someone directly behind me actually gasped. My face flushed with a sudden, hot wave of embarrassment and anger.
“Daniel,” I hissed under my breath.
He locked eyes with me. His face was pale, his eyes swollen from crying. I abandoned my post at the front and hurried down the center aisle.
“Danny, what on earth are you doing?”
He didn’t say a word.
“Why are you dressed like that at your own father’s funeral?”
He stared past me at the polished casket for a long moment. Then, he simply stepped around me and walked straight toward Richard.
Every sharp, irritated reprimand waiting in my throat instantly evaporated. Daniel placed both of his large hands on the cold wood of the casket. His broad shoulders folded inward, collapsing under an invisible weight.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he choked out, his voice cracking loudly in the quiet room. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
He bent over the casket and wept with a profound, terrifying helplessness that I hadn’t seen since he was a little boy scraping his knee. Nobody in the chapel was whispering anymore. I stood frozen behind him, completely stunned. Whatever his strange outfit meant, I suddenly knew it wasn’t a childish mockery.
During the eulogies, Daniel sat just two seats away from me. I couldn’t stop glancing at the dress out of the corner of my eye. Something about it nagged at the back of my mind, bothering me far beyond its obvious inappropriateness.
The specific shade of pink. The delicate little fabric-covered buttons running down the bodice. A tiny, nearly invisible snag near the waistline. I knew that dress. But grief had turned my memories into loose papers blowing wildly in a storm. Every time I almost caught the thought, it fluttered away.
The Cardboard Box
After the service ended, the inevitable crowd surrounded me.
“I’m so deeply sorry, Tisha.”
“Richard was such a wonderful man.”
“Please, let us know if you need absolutely anything.”
I switched to autopilot. I warmly thanked everyone. I tracked down a guest’s missing trench coat. I instructed the caterer on the optimal placement for the coffee urns. I was carrying a heavy crystal vase toward the reception hall when Richard’s sister stopped me.
“Tisha?” she asked, holding out a large, empty cardboard box. “Where should we put all these sympathy cards?”
“Oh, just place them on the table right beside the guest book. No, wait—people will definitely spill coffee there. Give them to me; I’ll sort them.” I reached out and took the bulky box from her.
“Mom.”
Daniel had appeared quietly behind her.
“Just give me five minutes, Danny,” I said, already calculating where to put the cards.
His face immediately went blank. A heavy shutter closed over his expression. “What?”
“I just need to finish this first.”
He stared hard at the box weighing down my arms. Then, in a voice so quiet it barely carried over the crowd, he said, “That’s exactly what Dad said you’d do.”
My fingers tightened painfully around the rigid cardboard edges. “What did you just say?”
Daniel glanced nervously at the crowded room. “Can we please go somewhere private?”
“Danny, I have to—”
“Please, Mom.”
