What happened to my mother’s dreams? And my father’s too? They’re gone, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I see all the dead men and women walking arm in arm, talking, around the block near the old house. I walk with them. What are they saying?
“I didn’t think it would be like this, Mike.”
“I sat in the dark every morning and cried and prayed. I didn’t believe in it, but I allowed it anyway. Will God forgive me.”
“It hasn’t been a happy life, Michael.” . . .