Lots of you have written to say you feel you’ve gotten to know my dad through the adventures I’ve written about here. That makes me soooo happy since he’s a man worth knowing. And for those who actually did know him, they can back me up on that. He will live on in my stories even if the tale itself is not about him.

Over the last year, my dad had taken to unplugging things: toasters, TVs, coffee maker, basically if it had a reachable plug, he’d pull it out. Actually, sometimes even if the plug wasn’t reachable he’d somehow manage to wriggle it out. The number of times I’d go over and find the cable box blinking, then look behind the TV and find a few cords hanging out without a purpose became (almost) comical. When asked about it, he’d shrug and say, “I don’t know. It was working last night.” At the beginning, I thought he was just being a rascal, but then when I began to realize he truly didn’t know, or rather didn’t remember, the inciting incident of the unplug I stopped asking. Instead, I took up my trusty black Sharpie and the roll of masking tape that I practically began wearing around his place like a bracelet (I wrote about the handiness of that product here).

I would then go around his space and place the tape (often multiple pieces) over the cords&plugs of the TV, the coffeemaker, the toaster, the phone. I’d slip in an I Love You or draw a heart but mostly I’d write Please Do Not Unplug or the more straightforward DO NOT UNPLUG, then apply it crisscross style over the thing, hoping to deter or possibly at least pause the disconnection. It never really did. The man was very determined. And it became something of a ritual to reboot the cable on the regular, reset the clock on the coffee maker, simply replug in the toaster (gotta love that simplicity of a toaster). I mean, I get it. When something is confusing in its functioning, there is that rule of thumb: Unplug it, count to ten, plug it back in.

There were so many functions my dad was becoming confused about. Over the last few months it would be a regular occurrence (almost as regular as the plug dismount) that he’d meet me at the door looking stricken and saying something like, “I’ve forgotten how to shave” or “I don’t know how to use the phone.” He was both aware of this part of his brain unplugging and alternately upset and annoyed by it. Then we’d discuss and come up with a plan. We would pretend he was at a fancy barbershop for a shave. We’d roll the office chair into the bathroom, I’d put a hot towel over his face, and give him a shave. Halfway through he’d say, “I can do this” and sometimes he would take the electric shaver and finish it. Sort of. When it came to the phone, I’d ask, “Who do you want to call?” and he’d say “nobody. I don’t like talking on the phone.” And on that point, I’d have to agree. I inherited that from him. So we’d leave the phone alone.

I listened to an amazing, moving, incredible (so effin’ great) interview with Laurie Anderson where she talked about how when someone you intimately love leaves the planet that the person you have been with them leaves too. I get that. The particular human I was with my dad is someone I am not anymore. I carry all the wondrous things we shared and what moments I inherited and observed, but I won’t ever be that person with anyone else. The historical ways in which I was formed by him and rolled around inside our relationship was our way with each other. I can use all the masking tape I want to try and cover up the connections because I’m afraid of them coming unplugged but I think the reality is that there’s an emotional extension cord extending for infinity between us.

The other day D&my Apple TV began to update. Often the update has gone into some interminable loop that requires a kind of crazy magical use of multiple remotes to bring the thing into line. Or, you can just unplug the beast, count to ten, then plug it back in and it’ll reset. So that’s what I did. I unplugged it. I counted. I replugged. It reset.

Love is like that too. Thanks, my Daddy.