‘You don’t call me. I never hear from you. I don’t have long left. You have to call me more often. I could go any day now.’ ‘OK,’ you said and, dashing out of your room, returned the phone to your father. Coming back to your room, the shame you were experiencing gained distinction. He was right. You didn’t call him. He was in his eighties and, after several strokes, required assistance to live. In your kitchen, you wonder what your tears are for: the loss of him or the loss of yourself ?
