I fall into a rhythm of walking. It’s constant and comforting, like the tide. Step. Step. Step.

He was sick. My dad had “sad days”. That’s what my mother called them. “Your dad is having a Sad Day today,” she would say. “Why don’t you go play with Karly?”

Step. Step. Step.

I remember the time when dad broke a plate in the kitchen. I remember the sound of it shattering against our somewhat expensive tile floor, and how he burst into tears afterwards.

Step. Step. Step.

My sister and I were ushered off to a movie with Auntie Carol. Karly was too young to fully understand it- all she knew was that we were going to a movie, a real PG rated movie, with Auntie Carol. But every time I glanced up at Carol, she had this kind of sad smile on her face.

As we grew older, it was understood that there were some days when he wouldn’t get out of bed. It was worse after the divorce.

But never, never could I have predicted that he’d throw himself off that bridge.

Step. Step. Step. He’s gone.