I sat down next to him to talk. He looked right at me, but it was shadowy. Is it because I can’t even really remember what he looks like anymore?
Why is he unreasonably scared of *me* being a contaminant, but not afraid of touching the same packages on the shelves of a supermarket with a gazillion other people?Yes, you know what I’m suddenly getting at. The same reason I was going to go into NH to buy my dad groceries, and the same reason that my brother can not risk wearing a mask when he goes shopping.
There are invisible wolves that chase us, through our whole lives. These are the wolves that raise us. They are our pack. And these are the wolves that will hunt and kill us, howling in mourning while they do so. Of course, my Father doesn’t see it that way. He doesn’t see anything at all. He is going blind.