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<p>My dream last night was disturbing. I was at my mom’s city house, only it wasn’t the house I recognized. It had green walls and a blue rug — a combo my mother would never approve. When I woke up — in my dream — I immediately knew something was wrong. In the living room, [&hellip;]</p>

<p>I have been interviewed, in regards to my writing, for the first time. It feels huge, as if I’ve taken another step — albeit a small one — in my literary career. It’s exciting. But sad because Dad isn’t here to celebrate this milestone with me. If he were here, when I woke up this [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Damn! What a wacky dream I had last night. And I swear, I went to bed sober. I was driving somewhere that in my dream was familiar, but upon waking, I couldn’t place it. I needed to park because I was late for an important appointment. But every time I tried to park, my dad’s [&hellip;]</p>

<p>By the time my younger brother got to middle school, my mother was fed up and disgusted with the teachers and principal of Sacred Heart School. The teachers were not great and the principal permitted me to get bullied for far too long. As my brother’s years at SHS drew to a close, Mom would [&hellip;]</p>

<p>When I was little, and Mom and Dad used to rent a house in Mattituck (or Cutchogue) for a month every summer. The first year, Dad bought a big two person inflatable boat — blue and yellow. But the oars never worked well, and so Mom and me and my brother would sit in the [&hellip;]</p>

<p>When I was younger and Dad would take us out to dinner, he and I would often order ice cream for dessert. One of us would order vanilla. The other would order chocolate. Then we’d each give each other half. Dad always had to have an equal amount of vanilla and chocolate on each spoonful. [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Four years ago, my son wanted a president’s theme for his half birthday party. My spouse asked a colleague to make a huge laminated sign advertising his run for president. Proudly, he held it and smiled. He was six. But even at that young age, he’d have made a better president than the man now [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dad never went directly into the water. He always need to let his body adjust slowly to the temperature. He’d walk up to the edge and stick his feet in. Then he’d inch his way into the bay, until he got about waist high. He’d lean back, fall into the water’s chilly embrace, and let [&hellip;]</p>

<p>When I was in middle school, my parents took us to Busch Gardens down in Virginia. While there, we took a wagon ride. The wagon was pulled by the famous clydesdale horses. During the ride, Mom asked Dad, “If I were a horse, what kind of horse would I be?” Dad immediately answered, “A clydesdale.” [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Being out here in Long Island is hard. None of us are happy. Perhaps mopey would be the best adjective to describe us collectively. Mostly though, Mom is really sad. She cries all the time. She’ll be cleaning or cooking and she looks okay, but then her shoulders hunch, her body shakes, and the tears [&hellip;]</p>

<p>The world can be divided into two factions: those who have experienced the coronavirus first hand and those who have not. Those of us who have experienced it, those of us still living the nightmare, have developed a much different perspective on life in America these last three months that those who haven’t. We are [&hellip;]</p>

<p>My spouse drove my son to Queens this morning. We all had lunch together and then my spouse returned home. After driving Mom to a doctor’s appointment, we — Mom, my son, the dogs, and me — came out to Long Island. We got here too late to go to the beach. But early enough [&hellip;]</p>

<p>My mother spent the day trying to organize my dad’s junk drawer down in the basement. She spent hours sorting nails, and separating them based on size. “You’re dad would never have done this,” she announced to me when I went downstairs to check on her. She’s probably right. There is one jumble of nails [&hellip;]</p>

<p>“If the house number wasn’t 13, do you think your father would have died?” My mom asked me as we were getting ready to take the dogs out for a walk. “I don’t know.” The question caught me completely by surprise. After all these years — and this address was mine for decades — it [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Forty times two. That’s where I am.&nbsp; My period of being tested has doubled, but it doesn’t matter if I pass, because survival won’t bring back my dad. According to the Biblical stories, after forty days you either pass or fail, but the testing ends. Not for me. Daddy’s dead. The pandemic rages on. I [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Daddy died seven weeks ago. I keep returning to Dad’s death certificate. It’s as if my mind refuses to believe it really belongs to him. I read it over and over again and I can’t pull myself away. But I had been wondering if it would note Covid-19 as the cause of our misery. It [&hellip;]</p>

<p>I am back in Queens. My brother went home to Nashville, but mom still needs help. My brother got her a computer and an iPhone. She last felt comfortable using modern technology sometime in the 1970s. Leapfrogging fifty years is proving to be a challenge. However, my brother sat with her to give her many [&hellip;]</p>

<p>There was a time I felt only excitement when I got something published. But it’s hard to feel completely excited when the content of my story is Dad’s death. Clare Morris published my essay “When Daddy Died” in the Writer Life section of The Blue Nib. (You can read it here: <a href="https://thebluenib.com/when-daddy-died/" rel="nofollow">https://thebluenib.com/when-daddy-died/</a>). The essay is [&hellip;]</p>

<p>I had been looking forward to a family day. A day away from this condo, across state lines, doing something fun. But when you have a kid, things don’t always go according to plan. We crossed into Pennsylvania with the intention of hiking at Ralph Stover State Park. However, from the moment we stepped out [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Another black man killed by a cop. Riots in Minneapolis. A burning police station. Trump’s escalating twitter war. Trump’s abandonment in WHO in the middle of pandemic that has killed 103,000 Americans. In the last 48 hours, there have been at least two dozen messages I’ve wanted to send Dad. I’ve wanted to tag him [&hellip;]</p>