“I thought it might weaken him a little, even the scales between us. He was still in the intensive care unit when a massive snowstorm shut down the city. As his only son, I thought it was my duty to ski across Montreal that night to see him. I felt like a coureur de bois traversing our silent, boreal city. Stars sparked above Westmount Mountain. My skis left fresh, frail tracks on buried streets: the Boulevard, Côte-des-Neiges, Pine Avenue. I found him on a narrow bed in the ICU, wires g...lued to his chest. A cardiac monitor spat green light in the room. An intravenous feeder was plugged into his forearm, plastic tubing shoved up his nose. He was so glad to see me. I don’t think I had ever seen him unshaven before. The white beard rasped my lips when I leaned over to kiss him. At that moment, in his helplessness, I loved him as much as I ever had, or would. The ICU nurses adored his elegant manners, weird ice-blue eyes, beautiful hands.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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