I have been very lucky in life to experience less than my fair share of loss and grief. Being a rookie made the last two-and-a-half years that much more difficult. My father’s diagnosis of terminal Leukemia at the age of sixty-eight melted my core. I thought he and I had so much more time; that he would live to be influential on Silas and Arlo as they grew up; that he would teach them things I couldn’t say; communicate ideas with simplicity and truth in ways only the best grandfathers can.
So rattled that day in November of 2012, I slid into an obsessive state in which I could do little else but write about Dad, about my childhood, my adolescence, and his integral role in making me who I am.