Kelly and Portia are home, awaiting our return.
We’re in Woodbury, New Jersey, my hometown, 1,700 miles, a cultural divide and a three-day drive from San Antonio.
I’m going through my Dad’s remarkable photos, negatives, slides, and prints.
Life here is like a combination of Groundhog Day, with familial behavior patterns in a never-changing loop, and the flashback scene from Cold Case. The image and sound of my childhood self pops up without warning, laughing and talking with friends.
Through it all is my Dad, a genius and a hugger.
The quicksand of it all pulls at me.
But I remember.
I must escape before the SAD winter swallows me.
Soon. I’m coming home.