Dear Da, As the dirt slid off my shovel onto your coffin, Uncle Bryan pressed a parcel into my hand. The cameo pendant of Erca, the first princess of Scotland, lay nestled in the brown paper. My heart stopped to see our family heirloom, handed down to me through generations of ancestor mothers. When our family gathered the next day to witness your testament, we now four orphans briefly clasped hands. To my right, the firm grasp of Torlough, our redoubtable “Tor,” confirmed his new role as the family patriarch. To my left, Frank’s warm bear paw reminded me he was our heart. Young Johnny, only twelve years old, was straggling behind, as usual. You will never read this, yet I know you hear me. Your loving daughter, Cath
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