Before the last shovelful. Before the words spoken in the rain by the mound. Before the whispering ventilator. Before the cough that stole the taste of food from his tongue. Before the state of everything changed.

Long before. My father hugged me after a scraped knee. A minor comfort… everlasting.

Jonathan enjoys playing out of tune solos on his daughter’s ukulele while she demands he stop. He enjoys writing very short fiction and very long fiction. At this point in his life, he is beginning to suspect a thief is at work stealing his hair while he sleeps.