My father started joking about the sun when his hairline disappeared over his forehead horizon. 

"More surface area for soaking up rays!" 

His job worked him to death, dragging him out of bed in the still-dark hours and etching the furrows of worry and exhaustion deeper into his face. 

Before the mortician made him up for show, I looked into my father’s sun-warmed face and noticed the paleness of every relaxed crease.  All those years of anxiety hid so much of him.   

I had to get those white lines outside – into the light.