mother and son in front of restaurant sign

He is holding my hand, my son, now 32, balder than he was when he was born. We’ve gone to Ponto Final, a restaurant on …

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On Oct. 1, my father died. He’d had a minor heart attack and by the time I got to the hospital, he was sitting up in a chair. His skin glowed. He was alert and talkative. He told me he couldn’t wait to get out of there the next day — because they were telling him he just might get out of there the next day — so he could “tip a beer.”

But just before 5 the next morning, his nearly 87-year-old heart stopped. The medical crew tried to revive him, but except for a momentary flicker of a heartbeat, that was that.

My pops had left the planet.

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[This column was first published in Radish Magazine, July 5, 2017.] I’m getting old. I know it by the calendar — I turned 54 in …

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[This blog first published on Huffington Post, March 14, 2017.] It’s rare that I start off an author interview with “I f***ing love your book!” …

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