: About Me

I watched my Father's soul rise. Just my Father and I, in his room at Overlook Green. I was with him all afternoon while he slept, his contorted body free of pain via drugs. I lay on the bed beside him, part of the time, or sat in a chair with my head on his should or hand. His bone sculptured face, clean shaved at first, grew bristly. He did not respond to my caresses or the words a hospice nurse said I should speak. Logically, I knew he was dying, but the afternoon was so ordinary, my heart didn't believe it. Books, movies, TV, had given me the notion that death is dramatic, atmospheric....