The bench. The chill of the October air. The morning sunlight washing, weak but present, across the dying grass. I reached for the gray place, hoping it might offer some comfort, a place to retreat for a little while, and found it gone along with the emotions I'd buried in it.

Whatever my son had done to wake me, he'd taken my ability to hide from reality. How kind of him. It was hard not to feel bitter about that, and yet I thanked him at the ...