For the first time in my life, I can’t picture my daddy at the age he would be today. I thought that meant I was losing another piece of him. Maybe it means something else entirely. Maybe two things can be true: I can miss the hell out of him and finally let him rest.

One day, the child who once needed help reaching the sink is standing several inches above you, waiting for you to straighten his tie. My sons are my why. But you and me, kid? We grew up together.

I knew how to survive catastrophe. I didn’t know nearly as much about erosion. I became so good at breathing underwater that everyone assumed I didn’t need air. Including me. This is what happened when I finally stopped trying to make the undertow become anything other than the undertow, and started swimming.