November 12, 1984

I arrived back in Boston from Duke. I don’t remember the call I got at school. Or how I got to Boston, my friend Hester may have or might not have driven me to the airport.

I remember very little about getting home or being home. The first thing I recall is being on the phone with my Aunt Carolyn. I could hear her shuffling her tarot cards. “He’s floating,” she said referring to my father, and the cards shuffled again. “He’s floating and he could float back to us or he could float away.”

My father loved the ocean. He served in the Navy in World War II, he was happiest when on the water, by the water, near the water. But this time, the water wasn’t life giving, or soul enhancing, this time, it was a path to good-bye.

Because, the next morning, on the other side of the earth, my father floated away.

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