My father, Francisco Aguirre-Sacasa, turned 77 this month. Normally, my entire family would gather somewhere in the States to celebrate his birthday with a late-summer cookout, a sheet cake and ice cream. This year, though, there wasn’t a cookout. It wasn’t one of those rare, precious times when we’re all together in the same backyard, reminiscing, catching up on each other’s lives. Instead, we spent the day praying for my father’s release.