Starry Night

 "It's so difficult to see it laid out there in black and white, so legally worded, so punctual, formal and for all legitimate reasons, honest." He said. 

That was quite the mouthful for my father. Roger, my father, hadn't ever foreseen this predicament in his future, and therefor, did not know what to say. So, as ritual as ever, he retired to his bed, to sleep, or to pray, or to process. 

We never spoke of the events afterward. He only played a song for me, as if they were the only words I would hear or understand from him. Vincent, or Starry Starry Night. By Don McLean. 

It did very little to reduce my pain, but the song sank right home.