When I was a little girl, my dad was gone for work, for weeks at a time, on the oil rigs. Saying goodbye was a big deal, because I didn’t get to do it every day, and so it had to last a long time. This feeling was compounded by my dad making certain to emphasize, to my brother and me, that any of us could die, at any moment, with zero warning. My mother would sagely nod in agreement, untroubled.
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