What My Father Left Behind

The funeral of my father, Harrison Hudson, should have been a time for remembrance.

Instead, practical concerns arrived almost immediately.

Conversations turned toward debts, property, and what would happen next. Before grief had fully settled, decisions were already being discussed about the family home where much of our history had unfolded.

My brother believed the house should be sold.

My mother agreed.

And I was left with the impression that my place in the family’s future had already been decided without me.

The feeling was painfully familiar.

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