“He’s following you around, your father,” she said, when she came to visit me after he died. “A ghost?” “Him. I don’t know how else to say it. I can feel him here. And you know what? He’s overjoyed to be with you. He wants to be with you so much he’s padding around behind you. I mean, he’s delighted just watching you butter a piece of toast.” I didn’t believe it, but I liked thinking it anyway.
