(All of the soccer pieces I published that spring were from the time between my Easter visit, when my dad announced he was ready to begin the process of dying, and my arrival in Albuquerque in June.
I felt like I'd found a little momentum with the writing, so I had this idea going in to my time there that I would write all summer long, that I would write about what was occurring as it happened. Looking back, I respect the impulse while smiling sadly at the naivete. I had no idea, going in, just how hard that summer was going to be. In some ways, I didn't even understand it as it was happening. The full intensity of the experience was so vast that it kind of obviated reflection. All I could do was hold on.
How hard was that summer? I described it, later, like this: "Like being hit by a bus, but in slow motion.")