I had carried it through six apartments and two marriages.
Inside were photographs.
Letters.
School papers.
A baseball glove.
And one picture that made my heart stop.
Ryan at twenty-one.
Standing beside
me outside our grandmother’s house.
Around his neck was the same silver locket.
I turned the photo over.
Summer 2007.
Three years before his death.
My hands began to shake.
Ryan had disappeared in October 2010.
Police said his car had been found near Lake Michigan.
A body had washed ashore eleven days later.
Badly decomposed.
The police told us identification was made through dental records and personal effects.
There had been no viewing.
We cremated what we were told was Ryan’s body.
I had stood at a cemetery holding a small urn while a priest talked about eternal peace.
