My son died yesterday, on an autumn evening, when the wind blew hard and the leaves hid from the first cold. The ambulance arrived too late. Since then, silence scratches my mind. But the worst thing was the wait every night, when he returned. My son died yesterday, but that night he came back to me. At first, I only heard a weak murmur with my name on his lips. A kind voice from the darkness. “I’m fine,” he told me. I saw him at the end of my bed, standing in a corner, barely a shadow. I knew it was him, it couldn’t be a trick of my mind My son died, and he has visited me every day,…