I played Yakuza when my father overdosed on sleeping pills. I didn't find out until the day after. When I visit him at the graveyard I still imagine that they might have buried the suicide note they never found with him by some cruel mistake. I hide my hands in my pockets, thinking someone might see and tell by the way my fingers tense up that I dream about clawing the ground open for answers. The truth is that I'll never know if it was an accident that killed him or a death wish that I could have saved him from.