Then I changed my mind.

I did not expect an apology large enough to repair the funeral.

I wanted to give my sister something, speak for myself, and leave without another argument by telephone deciding what my absence meant.

I brought a photograph of the two of us as teenagers, sitting on a dock with our feet above the water.

The silver frame had a damaged corner.

I had chosen it because it held a memory of us before every gathering became a test of whose wishes mattered most.