olive will come to the bedside and stand up and touch my arm and sometimes i pick her up and lay her on my chest. have a little patience even for oneself. tiokasin ghosthorse. olive's purr is a very soft vibration on my chest. my breath rises up with hers. yesterday i thought of my father. where is he in time and space, in memory and presence. if i think of him what is the feeling i have, is it inarticulate? he wrote something, some kind of memoir to leave us with, i never read, i never received. i can't imagine what he said. what he didn't say. what died with him.