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may eighth

May 8, 2008

today, my father has been dead ten years.  he passed on a friday late in the evening.  through shattering pain, he’d called his sister that morning to say goodbye.  by the time my brother and i were called to his bedside he was unresponsive.  i remember holding his hand, small and dry, and stroking his forehead.  his mouth was flung open and he loudly struggled for breath as his girlfriend, a southern baptist turned christian metaphysician, hymned still louder the twenty third psalm.  in an instant i was half way to becoming an adult orphan.

today, my father has been dead ten years and i find this to be true: the space between an independent woman and a girl who needs her dad is very small.

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