I lay down on the cloth-covered sofa in the living room and fall asleep. My father wakes me up. It is time. We go upstairs to my parent's room. The bed is neatly made with the yellow and blue plaid down comforter.
Packed boxes surround the bed.
My mother sits leaning against the backboard with her legs stretched out in front of her. As I approach the bed I see the final outcome of his carving. The wooden headboard, a plain but beautiful oak now contains our names, birth dates, death date and a picture of the moon falling into earth. I doubt any remnant will remain of life or even of earth other than dust, but that is his madness. I sit next to him.