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May 1, 2019
Letters to my father
You were making coffee when I left the house tonight. I heard the sound of teaspoon against mug while coming down the stairs, and immediately it reminded me of what you said about Lolo. How it's one of your fondest memories of him--the sound he makes when making coffee. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. When I'm old, my memories of you will consist of newspapers, good food, warm-sounding guffaws, tentative shoulder pats, a love that's there yet struggling to leave. Staying. This. You stayed. In some worlds, it's the bravest choice.