The secret to life was revealed to me through death. It was late January, days before my dad died, and I was sitting with him in the hospital. We were having a sweet moment where he was reminiscing about his life. His cancer diagnosis seemed to do that — his mortality nudging him into more openness, vulnerability, and softness.

Six months prior, in the heat of the summer, he had told me he didn’t think he’d see another Christmas. He tossed it at me like the frisbee we used to play with in the yard — a soft pass to see what I would do with it. My response is one that I regret to this day: I didn’t listen to him. I couldn’t bear the thought. I laughed it off, saying we’d have a lot more time together. But, in reality, he knew his body. He died 40 days after Christmas.

I sat next to him in

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