I’m not sure why I listened — I’m not sure why I didn’t roll my eyes the way I did when he corrected my pronunciation of Van Gogh or tempura — but I did.
She grew up — she had to grow up. Like everyone does. She discovered her own books, books I’d never read — books that hadn’t been written yet when I was a child. It’s what’s supposed to happen.
I find myself thinking sometimes about how much I would have liked the young woman she has become — how wonderful it would have been to know her — when I was the age she is now.
He didn’t want to die, that Saturday morning at 5 AM. He just finally knew that he was going to. I don’t think he ever believed it before then — no more than my mother did, no more than my brother did.