In one scene, Dad
attempted to leap from a speaker but landed on his backside.
In another, the bassist knocked over a tray of drinks.
I laughed until tears filled my eyes.
I’d never known this version of Dad. He was energetic, hilarious, and outspoken, nothing like the silent man I’d eaten breakfast with.
Then the video abruptly stopped.
The screen went dark.
Seconds later, Dad appeared.
Not the young musician from the footage, but the man we’d buried that morning.
He sat in the same studio, his face gaunt and most of his hair gone from cancer.
“Hey, son.”
My breath caught.
He looked at his hands before speaking again.
“I’ve never been good at this stuff. Talking about feelings. You know that better than anybody.”
He tried to smile.
“First thing I want to say is… I’m sorry.”
I gripped the desk.
“I spent so much time worrying about making sure you
