“You will never replace my son,” I said.
Tears slid down Barry’s face.
“I know.”
“And what you did stole something from me that can never be returned.”
“I know.”
I drew a slow breath, feeling the weight of my own words before I spoke them.
“But if God gives broken people room to repent, who am I to refuse even the possibility of change?”
My wife stared at me.
Barry looked stunned.
“I’m not saying this is fixed,” I continued. “It isn’t. And I’m not saying trust comes easily now. It doesn’t. But I will not bury another soul while he is still alive.”
Barry covered his mouth and wept.
My wife turned away, one hand pressed against her lips, caught between pain and something she was not ready to name.
And I sat there with a grief that had not disappeared, but had finally been forced into the light.
