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But you can’t run every time we have a problem. Talk to me. Ask me questions. About anything. I’m here. I’ll listen. Argue with me. Shout at me. I’ll argue with you. I’ll shout at you. I’ll get it wrong. You’ll get it wrong. That’s all okay. But to resolve our differences, we have to communicate.

I didn’t cry at the hospital. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I haven’t cried since my father died when I was sixteen years old. Yet here. Now. With her I let go. And I sob in her arms.