My father passed a few years ago. It left a wenching feeling within my heart which I had not expected as we had not communicated in years. I was sitting at my desk, where I worked at the time for a theatre company here in Chicago. The director had answered the phone and I heard her ask if something were wrong and then she told me I had a call.

My mother was on the line. She casually told me, as she thought it would not matter much, that my father had died. I remember screaming. It was a pain so deep I could hardly stand it. I loved my father dearly but had refused to buy into his constantly trying to make me into the image of who he wanted me to be so I had stayed away from him. I had recently resolved to reach out for him despite our differences and then had received the call.

I couldn