The wheel of life turns and never stops. I'm going to miss this man terribly. Not more so than with Anjoy, but it's going to hurt in a different way. I don't have the regrets with him. No should-haves, would-haves, or could-haves. We have had a clean, guilt-free relationship, my father-in-law and I. He introduced me to so many wonderful things, fostered new hobbies and interests. I'd packed and locked away my past, denied the existence of a life before becoming a Griffith. He would talk of his own travels, places he knew I was familiar with. My beloved desert, all the wild things I'd called playmates, brilliant sunsets in a sky that stretched out bigger and wider than the ocean; all these things I began to take out of the trunk one by one and touch, relive. Late nights would find us at the kitchen table swapping tales of near-misses with rattlesnakes, or recalling the strange mix of awe and fear watching a sandstorm approach, and how they would sometimes sand blast the paint off of automobiles and pit their windshields. We would cover the entire west coast in a weekend, sitting at that table with our iced teas and memories. Other nights I'd talk of my days down in Florida. The desert southwest, the four corners area, these were regular stops punctuated with stories of Navajo ceremonial cures and witch lore.

Who will visit these places with me when he's gone? How do I go back to that trunk and take out the last few items there, dust them off, breathe in their scent and let their memories wash over me? How do I face the last bits of what I've kept hidden and accept them unconditionally? I'm not ready to say goodbye. I'm selfish to think this way. This isn't about me, it's about Dad. But he and Anjoy have been my parents for the last sixteen years. It's just going to be hard.