Last One Out, Get the Lights
History, and a year, in review
I watched my father die four years ago.
Some memories are clear as day. I remember his eyes, watery, low, and yet glinting with something childlike. A sleepy, confused wonderment washed over them. The shadows of dementia had lengthened over his mind. A forgetful fog descended on him, my father, a hard man with an iron will.
Now he was like a child. I took…
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