There is no way you can know what his favorite line will be.
What memories and private griefs he has.
And you face the ultimate privacy of his inner life.
And then you start to wonder, "Well, what is my inner life made of? What do I have that's worthwhile to share with another?"
I want to close on some of my favorite lines from Patrick's letters to his daughter.
"The river is shadowy in some places but the light shines through the cracks of trees ... On some branches hang plenty of mulberries.
You stretch your arm straight out to grab some." And this lovely letter, where he writes, "Close your eyes and listen to the sounds of the words.
I know this poem by heart and I would like you to know it, too."
Thank you so much everyone.