I was initiated into two clubs that no one wants to join: Daughters Who’ve Lost Their Fathers and People Who Listen For Calls In the Night. The so called hardest kind; the kind one feels when a relationship was fraught with contradictions-love, hurt, adoration, disillusionment. But guilt never entered the picture–the guilt that would have eaten me alive had I not made the move from estrangement to mild connectedness in those final months. The grief is a sacred space, hushed like an empty church on a scorching hot Texas summer day. I let it lead me where it will.