Yes, I went for a walk today. And yes, I fell asleep in the tall grass, leaning on a rock, the sun warm on my face, my arms. Slept like a child sleeps — drifting into clouds of wandering thoughts — birds, leaves, stems of flowers. You. And then yes, I woke, and Waldo,… Read More
I have not written my dad’s obituary yet. I have not cancelled his credit cards or opened the notebook that says what I am suppose to do, as executor. I have not boxed up any of his clothes, or thrown away any papers, or medications, or magazines. I have not… Read More
Dad is the one holding the child. Last night “Pete” called. Pete is Pethachi, one of Dad’s colleagues from his days at Purdue University in the early 1950’s. Dad arrived in the United States knowing no one. He arrived just days before school started. He was dazed and confused. Then… Read More
Dad, in his kitchen – photos taken by Amir Rakha Two days after Dad died, he made us dinner. We sat at my table and we ate a feast of Qabooli Biriyani and Mirchi Ka Salan, both dishes typical to Hyderabad, India where Dad was born and raised. Qabooli is… Read More
“He got to live the way he wished, and with his family around him right until the end.” Atal Gawande, Being Mortal <
Here is a little something special. Words from dad about one of his favorite subjects: God. I taped this conversation between he and an ER doc sometime early this summer when Dad and I made a late night trip to Silverton Hospital because his blood pressure had elevated to a… Read More