I am sitting in my dad's truck at the Ozark Country Club, a place I am certain this farm vehicle never has been before. My dad had no use for such places. But my daughter Stella does. She has joined the Hillbilly golf team because apparently we do not have enough sports in our life already.

Golf is a new frontier, and she is Lewis and Clark. I am Sacajawea; I can't guide her in anything athletic, but I am good support staff. And despite as much time and life force as I spend taking her back and forth, I have to admit I am glad she still isn't old enough to drive herself.

I am not doing very well this morning. Or maybe I am. It is a weird question to be asked, "how are you?" after a death, weird to try to gauge for yourself. I usually tell my friends that I think we are all dealing with it in a healthy way, even though we are in the abyss. Where else would we be? What else does healthy look like when you have lost the great anchor of your life--the patriarch of your family? The life-giver, the warmth, the energetic star at the heart of the FFF Ranch, the great big bright blazing sun the rest of us planets orbited around?

I am on the verge of........

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