By Jack Limpert
My father died 78 years ago today. All my working life as a journalist, I had a sentence typed on a small square of paper and tacked up on a bulletin board near my desk:
“Death ends a life, but it does not end a relationship, which struggles on in the survivor’s mind toward some resolution, some clear meaning, which it perhaps never finds.”
It’s spoken at the beginning of a play, I Never Sang for My Father, and it helped me understand how I felt about losing my father a few days after my 10th birthday.
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