"The first time my son had asked me that question, I hesitated torespond. I thought "What good could come of reliving our grief?"But then I recalled h...w the grief and loss I felt when my dad died hadbeen multiplied by the fact that everyone refused to talk about him, asif he had never existed. So I put aside my own grief, and shared with myson, and now it was a nightly ritual."Bobby, are you sure you want to hear this again? It's a sad story,remember." I know, Daddy. But I still love hearing. I covered my, or rather my Dad's, thumb with ink, and pressed it onto the paper, leaving a thumbprint. I smiled, then folded the paper and hid it under the lamp in the living room. If I'd just written a note, it could have been explained by me sleepwalking, but using my Dads thumb print, was something I couldn't fake that way. Carefully, I crawled back into bed beside my Mom, afraid to wake her up, and tried to go to sleep again. Again I found that I could push myself to sleep at. More

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