In 2016 I buried my mother. I buried a world that had been reduced to a whisper. Two world wars, the roaring twenties, the great depression, the fifties, elvis presley. All a whisper. And I heard my mother in her death throes, crying like a drowning woman, crying my name. Like her mother had cried. And her mother. And now I'm at the end of my world. The world I was raised in. The good times. The Beatles. Trudeau. The assassinations. Vietnam. The Bomb. And I am so angry. I don't want to whisper. I want you bastards to wake up.