Death of a parent is a funny thing. Everything changes and stays the same. Subjects never before broached are suddenly acceptable. A freedom is granted, and the thin veneer of – What precisely? Love? Civility? – can be peeled back to reveal the truth beneath.
My older brother and I found ourselves discussing the points at which we suspected our father was having an affair. “What about the time… Remember that fight… Who was…”
Our mother pronounced the Big Truth (years after the secret had been guessed) that she fell pregnant while unmarried.
Loving vultures picking the thin bones of dead men.