I say my goodbye to Memphis after lunch. The reason for this trip is to visit my dad and it’s time that I head that way. During the ten-minute drive from the Armstrong farm to the cemetery, I contemplate how far I live now from my dad and how visiting once a year is not enough.

“Hey dad,” I say out loud. “I’m here like I promised.” I kneel next to his headstone. I brush the grass shavings and dust from the top and the engraved lettering of his light-gray granite stone. My ...