"My wife doesn’t notice because she’s at the sink washing a coffee mug and the faucet’s running full blast. Our son, who’s five—a grizzly bear could stroll in and he’d only smile. But when I look up from my cereal bowl and see my dead father, I think I must be dreaming. He opens and closes drawers, looking high and low for his keys. His face is thinner than I remember, sunken-cheeked, skeletal, his skin pale. The terror and love I feel is what a heart attack must feel like."