My Daddy died when I was 21. Death is not like it looks in the movies, there is no grace or elegance, there’s no breezy sigh or dramatic halt. Instead it’s counting seconds between breaths and watching screens for neon flickers. And all the while you know what’s coming; that the person you love is going to walk though a doorway,  close it behind them and leave you. The dread is exhausting. The fear is lonely. The certainty is crushing. Death is practically offensive by it’s invisibility. It pays no heed to the soul it takes or the dignity it costs. In life my Dad was scathingly funny, scarily smart,…