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.