It starts with detachment. Silent family dinners, prolonged absence, missed phone calls. Anxiously waiting for the doorbell to ring in the middle of the night. The sight of him sitting in the room alone in dim light, seemingly occupied with nothing at all, neither reading nor writing, nor watching television. In the space of just an hour, he enters the house after a long day at work and heads quickly to the room to get dressed, eat, and then fall asleep. Between the two moments — the moment he appears and then disappears — there is an undefined interaction that has no label to it, nor can it be described by the language of the mind. He asks me how my day was and I answer him. He asks about my future plans and I answer him. He asks whether I’ve made up my mind about traveling and I answer him. He asks and I answer again, using the best of my ability to summarize all of my thoughts and emotions so as to not overwhelm him with more emotional baggage. He then lays back on the couch and covers…
