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I knew, in some abstract way, that one day my father would die. Everyone knows that. But nothing prepares you for what it’s like when the day actually comes — when the phone rings, when the room goes quiet, when the world builds a new shape around the absence of the person who was your anchor. I’m 60 years old. And I just lost my father — the man who wasn’t just my dad, but my best friend . People think losing a parent at this age should somehow hurt less. They say things lik

We know how it ends. Every love, every friendship, every season of our lives — all of it eventually slips through our fingers. People...