At My Father’s Funeral My Sister Told Me to Stay Away From the Cabin I Inherited, So I Drove There Anyway

coffee and leather. The smell of a place that had been lived in and loved.

I was still standing in the doorway when I noticed the photograph on the mantle.

My father, young, barely twenty years old by the look of him, standing in front of this same cabin with an older woman I had never seen in any family photo or heard described at any family gathering.continue reading …