Tomorrow it will be three weeks since my father died. I often have the sensation when someone dies that I don’t want time to pass; that I don’t want them to move farther back in my life, away from now. Three weeks ago today I sat with him for the last time sometime before 7 p.m., gently rubbing his shoulder. He was asleep, or maybe that should be he was barely conscious. I carried on a conversation with myself, directed at him. He told me in the Summer of 2020 that he didn’t pray or count sheep when he was trying to fall asleep, but instead went through a list of car makes and models, trying to remember as many as he could. On Sunday three weeks ago, I asked him whether he was naming cars, and then I made an effort; Ford, Lincoln, Model T, Pinto, Taurus, Mustang, Toyota, Camry…I laughed and said that I wasn’t a car person and wasn’t as good at it as he was. I also told him that I’d hoped to have a 95^th birthday party for him. I mentioned that I thought it was likely I’d get the promotion I had told him about weeks ago. His face looked like it was smiling somehow. I don’t think it was my imagination.

On Wednesday January 26, the faculty voted unanimously with no abstentions to recommend me for promotion.