father.
I sat down without realizing it.
Dad had died when Adrian was still a baby.
Cancer.
Fast and brutal.
Near the end, he barely had the strength to raise his head, but every day he still asked me, “How’s my boy?” as though Adrian was the center of the universe.
Adrian never really knew him.
He had photographs.
A few stories.
A wooden toy truck my father had sanded by hand before becoming too sick to finish the matching train set.
My hands were already shaking when Adrian opened
