"I reached up and stroked her thick locks. That dark hair was velvety soft and flowed through my fingers easily. She took good care of her hair. I was...letting myself get distracted. Her pain was so deep that it scared me, but I couldn't let her bear that burden all by herself. There had to be some kind of hope, something that could allow her to be free of it, or at least find purchase to make it easier to carry. If she shared it, I would help her carry it. I had to find a way to let her know. I’ve seen photos of his mother and she was a strikingly beautiful woman. They had so much, and they had so little, and they had what money can’t buy: it put into perspective the first time I brought him a cup of coffee, something that pleased him so much, and after, we sat on the front porch swing wrapped in a quilt listening to the crickets and watching the fireflies. My Dad needled Patrick about not having indoor plumbing on the farm and they didn’t until 1965. Electricity in the farm house. More

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