We played through one of Dad’s old songs, then returned to the one Mom had started.

“You have enough for an EP now,” Frank said, referring to the collection of songs I’d been building.

I had been reluctant to release them.

Recordings made private feelings public, and I wasn’t sure I wanted strangers evaluating grief as entertainment.

Frank reminded me that I could choose what to share.

An album didn’t have to be a complete autobiography.