Heavy sigh.

This is a sample of my father's impossible handwriting.  This is his legible version.  He wrote longhand on legal pads and as he wrote in a hurry all the lines began to blur and smooth out and become illegible to all but the initiated (me and Mom and probably his parents).

Our dear friend Diana is working harder at passing away, now that we have all said our pieced and spend our time.  It is now her turn to do business with entropy, or Fate, or whoever is in charge.  It makes me think of saying goodbye to my own father, something I'm still doing, really.

When things were bad, he would sometimes rage or argue, but often he would just sigh.  It was a long, drawn out affair, this sigh.  It started with a deep and luxurious intake of breath, followed by a slow, expressive exhalation, drawn out for maximum effect.  I remember those sighs so well that sometimes I find myself channeling them.

When he died, Dad was with Mom and her best friend Frances.  They were talking quietly on the other side of the room and Dad was breathing in a labored way.  Mom told me that at one point, he took a very deep breath and let out a long sigh.  It was his last.

I know exactly what that sounded like.