The next morning, Mom, Uncle Merlin, Aunt Bea and I arrived at the funeral home, where we were met by the director. He approached us and handed me the belt my father had been wearing with the familiar “long-horn” buckle he had always worn. The reality of Dad’s death hit me like a brick wall, and tears streamed from my eyes. A droplet fell from my nose, hitting the pavement between my feet, and I thanked the director. We were guided into a small chamber, where my father was lying on a table with a sheet pulled up to his chest. Mom stretched out one of her delicate hands, placed it on his forehead and whispered, “Oh, honey.” “Vera,” Uncle Merlin surmised, “it just looks like he’s asleep, doesn’t it?” As Mom’s fingertips gently stroked my father’s brow, I sensed a soundless conversation between the two: “Honey, I came here to tell you goodbye. I wish we were alone, that every word could be said out loud. We have been through so much together. There were so many things we never acknowledge...