After my mother died, and many years after my father's suicide, I went through all his things along with hers. Each item brought with it a memory. I heard the tick of his watch as he carried me in from the car, asleep from a long ride home. His herringbone jacket with the grey suede elbow patches he wore to my Aunt Pearl's wedding.
Finding memories, searching for clues. I found no unhappiness hidden in the words of a poem, no anger revealed in a letter.
I found no answers. Nothing even, that suggested a question.