When my sisters husband died unexpectedly at the age of fifty-nine, I fell down the open manhole with my sister and the rest of the people who loved him. But my father? Hed been gone for such a long time. He had told us how much he loved us, and wed told him how much we loved him, again and again and again, until there was nothing left to say. Except for this: Dad, there is joy in the place that you left.

These Precious Days by Ann Patchett