Ever since the diagnosis there has been a moment, in the minute between sleeping and waking, when I forget, when I have only a lingering sense that there is something I am supposed to remember. In the warmth of my bed, I am caught in webs of dreams. And then there is the flood. I am dying. I am dying. I am my son’s first goodbye. I am not the start of a great new day. I am a bright sunset.
