A Year

It’s been a year (plus two days, I was stalling) since my dad died. It has been a hard year, in various ways; although some of that hardness started before Dad died, the hour that we spent together in a hospital room in Pittsburgh marks a focal point for the early stages of hard. It’s not yet clear when we’ll reach the landmark for the later stages. Dad’s instructing me in literature, in comedy, in the baneful manifestations of racial injustice, and in steadfastness all form a subtext to what I recognized and what I wrote a few days ago.
Part of what was great about F2C this year was nobody dying; truly, one element of my participation involved wanting to sit through the whole thing without calamity touching my family — not rational, but a healing step anyway. Now, we just have to keeping pressing on till we pass from under the clouds of our several other challenges.

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