The Last Year of My Father

After receiving a lung and transforming himself into a grand old man, my father slipped suddenly from this world.

When I lost my mother, I met grief for the first time and I ran. I thought grief would be dignified and monumental like a black tower shrouded in mist or quiet days spent weeping in a dim room. Instead I discovered that grief is a relentless feedback loop, a wash of static riddled with fractured images, creepshow dreams, and broken questions that can never be answered. How could this. Why didn’t she. If only I. This wasn’t supposed. Science tells us that grief is a biological necessity, a Darwinian driver that teaches us to protect the ones we love—or at least, the ones who still remain.

My father’s breathing became labored in the years after my mother’s death, as if staying alive had become too demanding. He was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis, which meant his lungs were stiffening due to a patchwork of scars that covered the precious tissue which translates oxygen into life. The doctors could not point to a specific cause beyond a crossed wire somewhere deep within the machinery of his cells, a faulty line of genetic code which sent his immune system on a terrible mission that rejected the logic of life: his body was attacking itself. Read More

Books
road-to-somewhere

The Road to Somewhere: An American Memoir

Published by W. W. Norton

“A tantalizing 21st Century cross between James Agee’s Let Us Now Praise Famous Men and Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, this remarkable and utterly original memoir heralds the arrival of a new and important American voice.” —Andre Dubus III

manufactured-history-of-indianapolis

The Manufactured History of Indianapolis

Published by We Are City

The Manufactured History of Indianapolis reminds readers that histories are not always just made. Sometimes they are made up. Folklore, faded memories, and misunderstandings are an important part of the way people understand a place and its past. In this book, Reeves invites readers to develop memories of that which remains unseen.”