Gemotions

He stared at the page, the lines blurred slightly through his tears. He hated crying. His father's list, found in a toolbox, was stark and straightforward: *Build a birdhouse. See a baseball game. Tell your son you love him.* He felt a hot flush creep up his neck. The last entry… he hadn't spoken the words since... since forever.

His son, Mark, was out in the garden. He should go out there, shouldn't he? He could just go out there and say it. But he stood rooted to the spot, a tremor running through his limbs. He felt a deep sense of wrongness. The toolbox felt like a cold weight in his hands.

He looked over at the door and saw the outline of his son through the window. He turned away and clenched his fists.