Evening It’s one o’clock in the morning and my brother, John, and I are sitting on either side of my father’s hospital bed in the quiet, dimly lit care unit in lovely costal southern California.  Our father is dying. For several hours he has been disappearing into some realm where we could not follow.  He stops breathing.  Minutes pass.  Then with a huge effort he takes another breath and returns. He talks with us, making sure things are good between us, stays as long as he can, then some wind sweeps him away on his journeys.  He repeats his coming …