On a visit home one weekend shortly after I had moved out, I found a half-written letter to his sister Janet in England. He wrote that a mammal’s purpose in life was to bear and raise their young. Now that I was gone, his life had no purpose. He’d thought he would have a few more years left of purpose. But I had left so young. He wrote this in a detached, intellectual way that implied it was a subject of some interest but not heartbreak. I later found a reply from his sister in which she attempted to comfort him, saying, “I’m sure your Sarah will change her mind and come back to you soon.” But I never did.

Around this time, my dad, when I would see him occasionally, would sing to himself, with a little side grin, “How ya gonna keep ’em down on the farm, after they’ve seen Paree?”