I flew home to Maple Hollow because my mother said my father was dying, but by sunset I was standing in our backyard staring at a half-starved gi
When my mother called and said, “Your father’s getting worse fast,” I was standing in the kitchen of my Denver apartment with a mug of coffee going cold in my hand and the late sun turning the Front Range pale gold. For a second I said nothing. My mother was not a woman who used…