by Karen Topakian
I haven’t seen my father in eight years. He’s not in prison. Or on the lam. Or hiding out. He’s not traveling abroad. Though the last time I saw him he did say, “Au revoir.”
It’s been a long time since I told him a good joke. Or listened to one of his.
Filled him in on my work, my friends, my life.
He would have loved to see our photos from Vietnam or hear about our excursion to Governors Island.
If I had been able to tell him about my latest blog, he would have asked a million questions.
He would have told me about a funny incident at Twin Oaks. Or an idea he had for an invention.
None of these conversations can happen again. So they must take place in my heart. Where he will always live.