My brother strode up to the podium in the temple chapel and pulled out half the contents of the tissue box. Settling next to me he divided the stack and whispered, “Put as many in your pocket as you can. I’ll keep the rest for you.”
Mopping my face, I grimaced, “I won’t need them all!”
“Oh you will,” he replied, “I’ve seen enough in the last few days to know you will.”
Three days before I’d held my mother’s hand as she writhed in agony and then finally grew still. As her features stiffened and her body grew cold I lay on her chest and sobbed; sobbed for regret and unfilled promises and the wish for just a little more time.