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…