By Howie Good
I didn’t know you were dying until I saw what your grown daughter posted on Facebook under your name. For a moment, I wondered if I should “Like” the post as a way to convey sympathy. Probably not, right? It was the sort of dilemma that once would have had you shaking your head in amused despair at me. Your daughter says that now you mostly just sleep. Where I am, some 1,900 miles from you, the sun is going down in a profusion of toxic colors, like a ship full of chemicals burning at the edge of the world.
“I write to breathe.” – the writer