I’ve seen that look before. Rememory. I’m almosting it. Must have been fifteen seventeen years ago. He looked to be about five then, sweet little boy standing on the urn. Held up with hands around the urn. The urn filled with wetted ashes and the Dillon girls and Molly holding him up. Eating cherries. He knew he liked it. He knew his mother would not like him standing on that urn. He looked at her watching, her mother eyes on him to call him down. Reproachful mother eyes speaking him to come down with mute secret words. Sweet boy looking at his silent mother remote with the pain that was not yet the pain of love.