I left Los Angeles early in the afternoon of a cloudy Thursday after surfing the morning in Santa Monica.
Turning over in bed, Jeri-Lynne felt an ache and a grief so deep that she clutched her pillow reflexively.
Before I start typing, on this crisp Corona-filled April morning, I need to draw some warmth into my hands.
I watched her fall the first time.
The sight of my late father sitting at the water’s edge filled me with dread.