When I came home from school
today, I noticed smoke coming from around my house. I was immediately worried,
but it turns out my dad was just burning stuff in the back yard. It was a
really weird time for him to be burning things though.
He looked like he hadn’t slept
in ages, and he was just staring into the flames. After a while of trying to
figure out what he was burning, I realized that it was books. All of his
journals and composition books and spiral notebooks were curling up into ash
under the flame. That worried me a lot. He never got rid of any of his
notebooks. He’s a writer like my mom was, and he wrote down every idea he ever
had. He never wanted to get rid of any of them.
Mom’s death seems to be
hitting him even harder than it hit me if he’s getting rid of those.
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