There Was an Extra Place at the Table for My Late Husband—That’s When My Son Went Pale

you open that,” Michael said, his voice shaking badly now, “you need to understand something. Dad wasn’t just a farmer from Millbrook. He wasn’t just the man who fixed fences and grew corn and read the Farmer’s Almanac.”

I stared at my son, waiting for the punchline to a joke that wasn’t funny.

“He was…” Michael took a shuddering breath. “Before he met continue reading …