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240 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2000
“I'm going to walk the same paths he did, look at the same trout streams he did, see the house he lived in.”
We never talked about his mother or his hospital stay again. That night became a ten-year-old shadowy conversation. Sometimes I’m tempted to take a sponge and some soap and wash away all the shadowy conversations, but they are all I have left.
He was very famous by then. I didn’t realize this. I just wished that he could stay longer, but of course he couldn’t. The smiling, gracious people were taking him somewhere else. I consoled myself knowing he was now only a bus ride away.
The rest of the birthday was a good one, except now I can feel the ache in my arms as I waved after the car that took him away one more time.