Buried Dreams
We buried my brother with his dreams. On colored scraps of paper my young son, Teddy, and I scrawled all the fantasies Abe never achieved for lack of trying: hero, quarterback, singer, actor and more and crammed them in the satin folds of his coffin along with his favorite bottle of Jack and a pack of Camels. Teddy, a budding artist, sketched Abe throwing a football. “Can you imagine Uncle Abe throwing long on a cloud?” Teddy asked as he gingerly dropped in the drawing. “Might piss off the angel
