As I headed back to New York City from my parents’ new home in New Jersey earlier this year, I had a feeling Papa was going to die. It wasn’t just that he had been bedridden for weeks, but something in the way he desperately wanted me to leave made me suspicious.
It’s as if he didn’t want me to witness what was about to happen.
My parents moved from Texas to New Jersey in December to be closer to me, their eldest daughter. After my father had a devastating stroke two years before, I’d helped care for him while trying to keep my journalism career afloat – but something had to give.
