He had no wish for a public display.

They were family keepsakes, not exhibits.

That evening, I sat with him while he talked about the grocery store.

He remembered the fear on Emily’s face during his last visit and said he wished he could tell his younger self to stop, step to the front desk, and ask for help.

He knew now that there had been assistance available, though he hadn’t seen it through his shame.

“Sometimes,” I told him, “people can’t see an open door until someone points to it.”