"Well he was very proud of you, always," his mother had said. The suddenness of loss seems to lengthen the grief. Her voice held that eggshell fragility.

"Yeah, he probably was, Ma," he said.

He thought about his father and wondered who he was. Was he well liked at his company? Did he like his job? Did people respect what he did? What did it matter what his father thought of him if he could have been a man who he himself wouldn't think well of.

It was the last time he spoke with his mother. He always felt that she'd planned to die.