This time last year we were wondering around Ferncliff Cemetery in a driving rainstorm trying to find his marker. Our father would have gone but he was staying at the hospital with our mother, who would die ten days later.
A man we at once feared, admired, resented. An overarching and domineering presence in our life from out very first memories. One to whom we are numb.
And now we call our widowed father every night.
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