Conrad taught us to distrust our own minds. Caught up in the spin of some imaginary turmoil; he forgot that the rest of us were placed within his reach, waiting for some reassurance that this was not how it ended. Confirmation was never his strong point. Convinced we were the enemy, it became locked doors and unanswered phone calls. Coleen visited once a week only to find the casseroles she baked still cling-filmed at the back of the refrigerator. Considering it was twenty years before the funeral summons; I didn’t expect to cry when we carried him into the church.

(Prompt: Each line must begin with ‘C’)