A New Normal
“Dad wanted to be buried at sea?” you asked as we wrestled the mahogany canoe to the shore and waited for high tide to carry us out. I couldn’t find my voice, but nodded in reply.
“Did he really carve this boat?”
Choking on my grief, I answered, “He made it for you.”
“We waved goodbye to his ship from here.”
“I’m sorry Mom,” you laid your head on my shoulder, “I don’t remember.” Together we tossed the MIA bracelet and let our sorrow sink, drifting into a new normal.
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