I just turned the age my father was when he died

I know, to the hour and the minute, just when my life begins past his.

I remember, 28 years ago, all the clucking about my father's age. "52?" they'd ask. "Oh, God, that's way too young. Too, too young." And now, after all these years and years, one tumbled atop the other, here I am. Now 52.

The dread that's come with this birthday is a dread shared, I suspect, by all of us who've lost a parent way too young.

Continued...