Ten years after my father disowned me for URM becoming a combat doctor, I returned for my grandfather’s funeral—and Dad immediately mocked me for “putting Band-Aids on soldiers.”

Laura,

Your grandfather tells me Germany is cold.

I nearly stopped.

It was such a Dad opening.

Not I miss you.

Not I’m sorry.

Germany is cold.

I continued.

I saw your email about the emergency procedure.

Henry should not have shown it to me, but I am glad he did.

You sounded certain.

I have spent several weeks thinking about whether certainty at twenty is courage or foolishness.

I have concluded that perhaps fathers are not qualified to distinguish the two when frightened.

I lowered the letter.

“Why didn’t he send this?”

Brandon whispered.

“I don’t know.”

The letter continued.

I remain angry.

I suspect you do too.

But anger is not the only thing I feel.

If you need anything, call.

Dad

No apology.

But it was a door.

A door he never opened.