For a long time, I wasn’t able to write about my dad’s death. Some people run to church, to their faith, to their inner selves, to help groups. I just retracted. I felt nothing. Nothing but pain and a deep well of sadness. Over time, as the days passed, as winter faded into spring, into summer, and now into autumn (it’s not been a full year yet) it got easier. It was easier to talk about him, remember his face, answer people’s questions about what kind of person he was.