I’m not sure what convinced me to leave the house, because right now parked by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, my breaths come out hard. And my heart aches with anxiety.
I’ve aimlessly scanned the sidewalks for my father. I’ve looked for him in the faces of the homeless that are scattered on the streets, huddled together in the cold. I’ve tried to find the blue shirt and black jacket he wore when he left my house in the walking crowds. He’s not here.
What was I even thinking?
Maybe I just needed to be out of the house—to be anywhere where he’d been. Maybe I needed to just start to know that the journey is futile, and not worth anything. All these years of abandonment can’t be wiped away because of pity for my father’s condition, can it?
He made his decisions and he m
