In 1999 I made a life-changing decision. I packed up an odd assortment of clothes, books, old letters, journals and headed for Copenhagen, Denmark to give birth to my child. There are many things I left behind: friends, belongings, family. In the landscape of family, there was my father, living in a home on Dekalb Avenue. My father's kidneys had failed him and due to his insistence at not showing up for his dialysis and the fact that he was officially a ward of the state, he had very little options. His health was bad. He had already suffered numerous strokes which let him unable to use the right arm and hand. I had visited him in the hospital a few times, and the last time was due to the fact that his neighbor had found him passed out in his room. He was not happy to be in the home. He complained endlessly about it and in fact, one day, with his face full of rare hope asked me, "Lesley, why don't we live together?" To which I immediately and flatly replied, "No...