XVIII

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It’s been 18 years, Dad.

In less than a week, I’ll be living three miles from where you died. I remember when I couldn’t dream of driving through the intersections of Broad Rock and Belt.

I went that way last week. Like the first time I drove past it after your death, I didn’t intend on it.

I showed your daughter-in-law where you breathed your last.

I still don’t know if I ever want to set foot in that building again, though.

I miss you, dad.

I love you.

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