It was Christmas Eve the day he died. I remember everything from the temperature (fifty) to the level of wind (so strong it could blow you over and fly you away) to the final expressions on his face (too many to list; that was my dad for you). The nurse said he was doing well enough to come home, which meant I wouldn’t have to celebrate Christmas in a hospital. Naturally, I was ecstatic. I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face, and he didn’t want me to.
He insisted that we get a tree on the way home, and I agreed on the condition that he let the tree guy handle putting it on the car. He agreed, but retaliated by buying the biggest tree there. I let this happen, and the tree guy strapped the tree to our Rodeo and I drove the three of us home—me, my dad, and the tree. I got the ornaments out
