When she opened his unlocked front door, she was overcome by the smell of what would turn out to be my dad’s decomposing body amid the stench of vomit and human waste. The derelict, filthy house—my former home—retained only the beds upstairs and the piano in the living room. The rest of the family belongings had been stolen or pawned off—even the kitchen cutlery and our toys. Susan bravely made her way upstairs and found my deceased father, dressed in a suit as if ready to head out on the town. He was lying not in his bed, but in mine.
