I.
Whatever happens, remember this: our lives are not defined only by what was taken from us. They are also defined by what we choose to return to others.
All my love,
Mom
I reached the final word and could no longer see the page.
My father placed a hand over his mouth.
“She wrote that?” he asked.
I nodded.
He turned away, shoulders shaking.
All the anger I had carried toward him did not disappear. But it changed shape.
He had lied.
He had made choices for me that were not his to make.
Yet inside those choices had been a promise to the woman he loved, made while both of them were frightened and losing hope.
I crossed the small space between us.
When I touched his arm, he turned.
“I should have told you,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I kept waiting for the right time.”
“There wasn’t one.”
