Photographs of my father rest in piles on the piano and the dining room table. We make a collage on poster boards of our favorites, our dearest. Pictures to remember the legacy of his life; school pictures, from Vietnam, skinny, with a beard, at our graduations, my sister's wedding...
Moments captured ago, which now, (in vain) try to express him. They just don't give enough.
The poster boards were put on easels at the funeral home. An open escape from the ominous coffin nearby. A chance to forget death for a moment and remember.
Now, the boards we pasted with pictures are behind the couch in our back room. The back room where his closet is still filled with his suits and ties, his shoes... (his shoe shine kit...). Next to the paper bags the hospital gave me filled with his personal belongings.

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