That trip home was hard. I wrote in my journal, "It's pretty fucking heavy here right now. He's definitely dying. How much longer he has I have no idea but it's coming to an end." But that isn't to say there weren't good moments.

I was to fly out of Albuquerque on the afternoon of May 7th. Along with all the other changes we were facing, a major one was that Mayra, who had been for many years my dad's caregiver and assistant and friend (actually, it'd be more accurate to call her his adoptive daughter), was moving to Silver City to be with her husband. She had stayed and helped out at the nursing home, but it was time for her to move on with her life.

My mom contracted with a company that provided caregivers for in-home care. Just before I was to leave for the airport, one of them came to interview. Her name, if I remember correctly, was Taimi. Taimi was Nigerian, about 40 years old, and very striking. My dad's face lit up when he met her. He said to her, "Are all women from Nigeria so beautiful?" She laughed, delighted. When she and my mom went into the other room to continue talking, I looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not dead yet," he replied.

It was on Cinco de Mayo a year ago that the idea of spending the summer in Albuquerque arose in my mind. I had a basically open summer ahead of me--no trips planned, no major events.

I remember worrying that it might be something like self-indulgent. Because the trajectory of his illness had tended to be long plateaus in between bouts of decline, I wasn't certain that he wasn't going to be around for a while yet. Would I feel foolish/self-indulgent/was I making too big a deal out of things if I spent the summer in Albuquerque and he lived for another two years?

I remember struggling with the uncertainty. What if he lived for another two years? Would I be making a mistake of some sort if I spent the summer in Albuquerque and he lived for another year or two? Would it be self-indulgent in some way, as though by taking that time I would be requesting something of the world to which I wasn't entitled? I happened to be fortunate enough that I could make it happen; a lot of other people, facing a similar situation, wouldn't be able to do the same. Was I taking too much advantage? Was that somehow unfair of me? As though the gifts the universe offers you are somehow not for us to accept, as though we're supposed to martyr ourselves in the face of our own good fortune. It's silly to remember that worry in retrospect. But I do remember it.

And I remember making this assessment: if I spent the summer with him and he lived another year or two, I'd never regret the time I spent with him. On the other hand, if it was to be his last summer and I didn't spend the time available to me with him, I'd regret it forever. That sealed the issue for me.

I spent that evening hanging out with Coit and told him the idea. At holidays for the past few years I'd stayed with him, my parents' house being a challenge to stay in for multiple days. I asked him if I could stay with him that summer. My dad and Coit were best friends; he didn't hesitate for a moment.

I didn't make up my mind for sure that night. There was a lot to think about. But by that night things were definitely set in motion.