I couldn’t voice my question, so I motioned toward where his phone was on the nightstand. He frowned. “You can’t talk at all.” I made a writing gesture with my hand. “Oh!” He grabbed his phone, pulling up a notepad app, and handed it to me. I typed out, “Where are they buried?” And handed it to him. “By your mom.” Relief tamped down some of the pain. It was a little more manageable.
