Then lunch time will come, but you won't feel like eating. You will instead feel like turning off all the lights and burying your face in a pillow for an hour, not for a real nap, but just to turn everything off.
I couldn’t tell you how old I was when I learned to read or when we stopped practicing cursive in school, but I can describe the view from the upper floor of the Columbia-Presbyterian hospital parking garage in almost perfect detail.
Most of the time, I feel like I'm getting ready for another gunshot in the night, another life-changing morning when I'll have to figure out how to pick up the pieces and stand tall in the sunlight of my own, personal, post-apocalyptic world.
Four months after my father’s death, I decided to go back to college and get a bachelor’s degree. I had wanted to eventually do it for myself, sometime in a non-specific future, but it was my father’s death and the crushing depression and anger that I experienced afterwards which catalyzed my decision to do it as soon as I possibly could.
I had always imagined that if one of my parents' health was failing, it would be such a long, drawn-out process that I would have time to get home to them, to say goodbye. But my dad had died and I hadn't even seen him in four months.