That's what the back says anyway: July, 1979. I think this was at the farmhouse in Nova Scotia and I think that's Dad's arm. And the story goes: someone made a joke that I was going to stay with Lloyd Forever and I cried because I thought it was true. But I was two. And Lloyd knew better: he's laughing! And when Dad called this morning and woke me out of a deep sleep, so deep my muscles forgot how to work, the last thing I thought he would say was that Lloyd had died in the night. Dying is strange. And when people die, it makes the memory of them (and them in your life) seem so much more fragile and slippery. My second Real Regret in life is that I didn't name a child after him.
