The thing I remember most about my father’s death is the sound of a rifle shot.
It was a crisp, late winter day and we were sitting on the back porch watching him fish in the pond.
He had just stepped out to retrieve his line when he turned around and said “I love you” before walking towards us.
Those would be the last words I ever heard from him.”
My father and I had a complicated relationship.
He was never around because he worked so hard to provide for us, but when he came home his presence would completely overtake the house.
It felt like all my mother did was take care of him—which she wasn’t very happy about.”I didn’t marry your dad so that I could be a maid,” she said one day as we were setting up supper in our tiny kitchenette.”
All this work is too much on me.””Mom, please help out more?””It’s not good enough just to try harder!””You know what? Fine! You can do it yourself since you’re such an expert now!” And with no warning at all, mom stormed off into