I wanted to tell him that Fyodor Dostoevsky resorted to gambling because his father was as obsessed with wealth and status as my own father. The unfairness of dying younger than he expected; of leaving unfinished business behind; and of lacking the courage of his grandfather to discuss his condition with the family was tormenting his mind. Beneath the anger and frustration, he wanted to spare me disappointment by pointing out that life was filled with unexpected challenges like the one he was facing.
Driving to Duluth was as close as I ever felt to him. Although he knew that I was hardly up to the task, he relied on me to complete unfinished tasks. It was all the approval I needed. His confidence in me came with a myriad of reservations about my severe limitations and character flaws. Sit
