Past, Present, Future
Perri: This book is about mothers, but I would like to begin with my father. Since his death, sudden and unexpected, in 2001, I have been carrying on a variety of conversations with him. Some of these take place in my car when I am driving. Ever since his death, I have found myself talking to him, often out loud, while I drive, sometimes filling him in on how my life is going or chewing over a dilemma or up- dating him on the world. For the first year after he died, those conversations—well, I suppose you might call them monologues, but I find it more comfortable and comforting to think of them as conversations, to imagine him there, in some sense, listening in—usually ended with me in tears in my car, trying to drive carefully, facing yet once again the hard, cold fact that I would never again hear my father’s voice.
But not all conversations—or even all monologues—take place