My father hadn’t left us yet but I have no memory of him living there. I remember cringing when the neighbor’s dog barked and snarled, remember holding a funeral for a sparrow, burying it wrapped in dandelions, remember burning caterpillar nests, bee stings, the linoleum floor cold all summer. I remember someone broke into our house, shards of glass on the steps, my mother’s voice shaky when she called 911. We searched every room. Only my father was missing.