When someone dies, we are given the opportunity to behold our life as it is, complete. A death clarifies, makes most real, illuminates; whatever is extraneous falls away, and we can see where we really are. But where are the departed ones? Where did Daddy go? In one sense, of course, I am where my father went, and I can feel him any time I want: all I have to do is look at my hands, which resemble his, or hear his voice in my own when I answer the phone.
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