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Two

Parting Words

Though several members of my childhood family have died, the passing of all but two of them took place unexpectedly and at a distance, and I was not able to say goodbye. On two occasions I was there, the dying spoke to me, and their conversation was memorable. Their last words to me seemed a summary of their lives and a way of giving me a part of themselves that would remain in the world after they had left it.

Raising The Sun

Goodbye

When my mother screamed into the phone for me to get over there, “Daddy’s dead,” a long waiting period ended. My father’s failing health over several years had left him almost helpless; he had demanded and received from my mother as much care and supervision as a infant.

Leaving

A mother’s smile, a hippie girl, a farm in England

Legacy

The Hand That Shook The Hand

I didn’t go to my grandfather’s funeral. I had excuses at the time — I was living 500 miles away, no money for plane fare, other obligations, and so forth — but mostly I suspected that funerals were some kind of superstitious pagan ritual.

Demon Eye

I needed to see the stallion’s body once I knew that he was dead. Nate had found him down by the creek while I was away.

Celebrations

An old man and a butterfly, a beloved friend’s housewarming, a hysterectomy

Rosie’s Way

Richard presses the buzzer. A dry, rasping sound echoes off the cracked, peeling walls and bounces up from the marble vestibule floor that needs cleaning.