“If only, if only,” the woodpecker sighs

This is an excerpt about my father, from my piece Desirée Strother. I wrote that essay almost five years ago now about changing my last name to my maternal grandparents’ name. A lot has happened between that time and now; now, I am writing about some of those difficult, painful things.

I haven’t known how exactly to describe my latest essay, and part of me hasn’t wanted to. It is an essay about the things we share-emotion, grief, experience-even when we don’t know we’re sharing them, even from afar. It is an essay about loss, sorrow, and peace anyway.