“the man next to me says at last. We’re in the back row of a DC9, leaning close to hear over the engines. He’s been telling me how his next-door neighbor once had an aneurysm. She was mowing the lawn at the time; her death was nearly instantaneous. “I mean, is this a good distraction?” he says. “Or would you rather I leave you be?” “It’s fine.” I shake my head and smile. In the numb efficiency of panic I have already told him about my father and the call from the hospital chaplain that set me in... motion today from Detroit to St. Louis. “I think I would sense something if he”—the flight attendant bumps past us in the aisle—“died,” I say. “Died. I think I would feel that.” He nods and looks into his drink. It is possible he thinks I’m devoted to my father. I scan the gray air outside, opening myself up for that sensation you always hear about. Does a part of me—however vestigial—feel torn away, missing? It doesn’t. My father is a fierce, invincible giant.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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