Chapter 14 - ROBERT AND ME
My father took longer.
Four years.
He wrote letters.
The first blamed me.
The second blamed the bank.
The third blamed his father.
I answered none.
The fourth was different.
Thomas,
I spent my life believing providing money gave me authority over people who received it. When I stopped being able to provide, I manufactured debt so I could keep that authority.
I read that sentence three times.
Then:
I used your worst years after Laura died as proof you were weak, when they were actually the years you needed your father most.
That one hurt.
I agreed to meet.
He looked old.
Not defeated.
Old.
“I’m sorry about Laura.”
I stared.
“You attended her funeral.”
“I know.”
“But?”
“I never told you I was sorry you lost her. I told you what you needed to do next.”
True.
He had given me lists.
Insurance.
Mortgage.
Children.
Work.
Never:
My son, I’m sorry.
He said it now.
Five years late.
Still real.
Then:
“I’m sorry about the kids.”
I nodded.
May you like
Not absolution.
Acknowledgment.
