Driving home with Matt the first weekend of February, listening to Death Cab, my Mom’s new obsession- I’m sure my Dad would have liked them. She’s taken on so much of who he was, what he enjoyed. I think of Dad listening to the lyrics piped forth into the car. “I will follow you into the dark.” “Love is watching someone die.” I’m not anxious anymore when I make the drive home, but inevitably I focus on Dad. Later that night, Mom shows us poems for her book. Talks about experiencing Dad inside of her, feeling as if he’s right behind her eyes, like she’s seeing things for both of them. How close to the edge she’s come feeling as if she’s living for two. I think, "I need to make sure to write this all down". We order take out dinner from the pizza place down the street. “I always hated Louie’s,” she says, “Now I think I might like it, and Dad isn’t here to appreciate it. He always wanted Louie’s and I would nix it. You know what else I’ve been doing that I always told Dad not to, listening to music really loudly in the morning when I get ready for work. I would always tell Dad to shut it off because it would take me out of my focus zone for getting ready, and every 8 months or so he would test me again. Now I do it every morning.” It makes sense to me, her doing all these things- taking on how Dad was, what Dad did. It’s a way of keeping him alive, a way of keeping him present in this world.