My father did a lot of thinking, and sometimes a lot of talking, about life during the depression. He is at the bottom right and I am at the top left, and in between are winding stories that shaped the way I see the world.

There is something about the death of your parents that brings them closer. You realize that all the cells that make you up are extensions of their cells, your consciousness a continuation of theirs. It's as though they are watching the world, now, through your eyes.

Once, I asked my father if he was afraid of dying. He said no. And then he added, 'As long as it's not right away.'

I wonder if death (not the messy business leading up to it, but death itself) is the last great adventure. Whether a split-second trick of the dying brain or the way things really are, I wonder if something amazing might happen.

There are two things I would be satisfied to see. My parents and the universe. The only possibility of seeing either one is death. It's the ultimate crap shoot, but it makes the idea slightly less disturbing.

As long as it's not right away, of course.