November 17, 2018. The day my dad died. It’s been exactly 12 months. It’s still fresh. And SO much else has happened in the same year. Dad driving our boat, The Shansu, circa 1983. This is how I remember him from summers growing up - at the wheel of the boat. I know that “time heals”. I know that, at some point, I will feel November 17 th creeping up on the calendar and it won’t bring as much malaise and sadness as I am experiencing now. I know that some time – years or maybe a decade later – I will be able to take time out of “real life” to celebrate Johnny Day just like I celebrate Mary Day every October 20 th . But this year it all still feels quite raw and painful. I still have flashbacks to this time last year. I am currently living in a basement bedroom – the same set up I was in when the hospital called in the middle of the night to tell us Dad had coded. Last night I decided to confr...