I wonder what my kids think of me. Maybe they haven’t really – I don’t remember
thinking about my Dad. He just was.
A realization that feels like a soft hollowing out of my
chest: I’m starting to forget (about)
him. My Dad. It is so much worse than remembering him in his absence. I’m not
forgetting what I need and I’m not forgetting what I want and everything I’m
forgetting, I’m becoming.
