These are weird times, to say the least. Not only are we navigating a global pandemic — something I’ve seen played out a hundred times in fiction and never thought I’d actually live through — but I’ve been trying to navigate an inner turmoil only made more uncomfortable by the coronavirus (COVID-19).
With the beginning of May, I find myself approaching a trifecta of traumatic days I have dreaded every year for almost a decade.
May 9, 2011 was the last day I saw my father alive. May 12, 2011 was the day he died. May 16, 2011 was the day we laid him to rest.
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