Our father, who still wouldn’t let our mother buy furniture with glass edges despite the fact that we were teenagers. Our father, who put yellow masking tape at the top of the stairs so we would never forget that it was the top of the stairs. Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. That’s what I repeated as we drove home, as I walked the stairs to our bedroom and put your gold earrings back in the tiny drawer of your jewelry box, so you’d know exactly where to find them.
Holy shit
