A Prodigal Comes Home
I was finally able to apologize to Dad.
He did his best to raise me right. He never lifted a hand to me. He showed me how a man should act and speak. He worked hard all of his life only to have me squander what he gave me. He was a good man.
It was hard (I’m too stubborn), but I formed the words with my trembling lips, thankful I didn’t have to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. But I’m not sure he heard me—his head beneath the gravestone.