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November 24, 2012
So here I am at his bedside, with waterfall face. Stroking his thick forearms, the fine hair on his temples, touching my lips to the top of his head, which has never looked more innocent or vulnerable. I press my lips against his ear and whisper, "You're a crazy old fuck, Daddy, you know that? Thank you for marrying my mom. I don't have soccer player legs and you know it." If he can hear me at all, I know he's laughing inside his head. I tell him over and over that I love him, something I rarely said aloud.