Three Days Before the Casket Was Delivered, My Son Asked Me to Sign a Document

“Why would you tell Pastor Wills my granddaughter is dying?”

Julian didn’t flinch.

He turned his cup a quarter turn and looked at me the way you’d look at a child asking about the moon.

“Mom.

Have a seat.

You’ve been up since four.”

“Answer the question.”

“Chloe is getting worse,” he said, softly, but plenty loud enough for the two women at the far table.