I read journals written by my father 25 years ago and I get to know a little more about someone I never really knew. Someone who was never available to me.
I continue to try to piece together a complex story and my self that would need to be the glue, just isn't strong enough. The pieces clank together, unwieldy and not fitting. A failed marriage. A death. And perhaps my father as well was not up to the task to put the pieces together and so left it to me.
