I wasn’t surprised when I got the call that my dad was dying, even though we’d been estranged for many years. He’d suffered addiction for decades and eventually ran out of time, which also meant he ran out of time to reconcile with me. About 15 years after we stopped talking, my aunt and uncle held the phone up to his ear – 1,400 miles away, between me in Connecticut and him in Nebraska – to help me say goodbye. I’ll never be sure if he understood my words, but, as I watched waves crash on the shore from the Long Island Sound, I cried and told him I loved him. I forgave him for things he probably never forgave himself for. I hung up, and, so …
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