At dinner at the Grand Canyon, Dad asked me why I was staring at him. “You’re grayer,” I said, not telling him that he reminded me a little of Dustin Hoffman in Death of a Salesman. “I got old,” Dad said. “At my next birthday – I can hardly believe it – I’ll be 69 years old.” Dad remarked that the block we were on had been his territory when he worked for that private investigating firm while he was still in high school.
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Now that I’ve experienced a loving gay relationship, I feel more alone than I did before I knew what I was missing. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Sean; I’m surprised how affected I am by losing him. There’s no one I can talk to about it, and my letters to Susan, Stacy and Miriam have all been perfunctory. Denial, mostly.