I Taught My Son to Ride and Three Weeks Later I Had to Bury His Helmet

cry in the truck.

I did not cry in the driveway.

I did not cry until I walked into his room to put the bag down and I saw — sitting on his dresser — the handwritten note he had left for me that morning. The note I hadn’t noticed before I went to work.

I picked it up.

And what my nineteen-year-old son had written to me, before he left the house for the continue reading …