A death in the family

摘要

I didn't cry when my father died. I didn't cry at the funeral. Oh sure, there were wet eyes and a few tears even escaped and dribbled down my cheeks. But I didn't really cry, not the kind of cry an event of that magnitude deserved, not the long, hard, pillow-drenching sobs that I needed to start the recovery process. I was a stone-cold denial machine. Three months after his death I received a special delivery letter from a lawyer with details about his estate. I opened it and, standing in the entryway behind my front door, I read the letter and broke down and cried. The letter didn't say anything especially surprising, but it signified to me that my father was really gone and it was the trigger for my grief.