“Are you all right, Dad? Will you be all right tonight?” I asked. “You mean, am I afraid of dying?” This question, direct and unadorned, made me blush. My father had intuited that this was exactly what I’d meant. He looked away for a moment, as if considering, then fixed his eyes on me and said, “I don’t fear death, but I don’t welcome it, either.” The sheer simplicity and unexpectedness of this confession filled me with a sudden, terrible pride. It was a sensation that did not demand tears, or even recognition. In this moment, I loved my father intensely. — 94: 1365-1370
to dig into the topic as a sign of his earnest protectiveness — 139: 2029-2029