He ran out of whatever juice was propelling him, like a wind-up toy petering out, and he settled into the look of calm, unquestioning authority that had characterized him for 88 years. “I love you Bud,” I said. And that in universal death there must be universal love did not seem true exactly but close enough for me to breathe out my grief and replace it with a mild strain of joy as the pendulum of sleep swung back over his eyes and I could leave.… more
Writer: Harrison Gatlin
