Why Parenting After My Dad Died Was Nearly Impossible
I hadn’t seen her in two days, the days I spent at my dad’s bedside, curled into his alarmingly thin body, watching his breaths get shallower, feeling his toes get colder. I assumed she’d be excited to see me, and that this excitement would buoy me, keep me from drowning in the cold, vast ocean of despair in which I’d found myself. But when she saw me, she threw her artwork at my face and said, “What are you doing here?...