I spent years convincing myself my stepfather was the man who replaced my dad, not the man who raised me. When he died, I told everyone I felt fine. Then I found an old recorder in the garage with one file labeled with my name, and in 10 minutes, I realized I had been wrong about him all along. It is hard to explain how grief can become a permanent background noise in your life. My father died when I was six. One day, he was there, smelling like shaving cream and peppermint gum, lifting me onto his shoulders at...
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