There was no single event to point to, no hinge between before and after, though when I tell people about him, it’s sometimes easiest to cite the accident or his unswerving devotion to the Lord rather than what was truer, that like an artery’s blockage, our end was an accumulation. “Yes and no,” I answered. “Very specific,” Janice said. But there was no easy answer to give. I could tell her that my father confounded me, that in moments I’d loved him with a fierceness my young self didn’t know what to do with, that I’d been ashamed of him with that same wild fire, and learned early how loving
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i felt this too deeply
