for papa
In the Salt of Us: Brackish reflections on life, death, and love
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Do we see more clearly under the heavy cloud of grief or is the world more distorted in its presence?
The first time my father left me he packed an ugly teal suitcase and left it on the bed, a terrible clue to find when you are two days ten. My mother lied to me about it. “Where is he going,” I asked. “To get gas.” “Why is there a suitcase?” She was bro…