He said: then what is.
I said: the lesson is that there is no free.
I said: everything has a source.
I said: the comfort you grew up in had a source.
I said: the education had a source.
I said: the house had a source.
I said: the source was me.
I said: and when you became the source for a few weeks.
I said: when I was on crutches and I needed your help.
I said: you called me a burden.
He said: yes.
He said: and you were far more than six weeks to me.
I said: yes.
I said: and I never called you a burden.
He said nothing.
I said: not because you weren’t one.
I said: of course you were.
I said: that’s what children are.
I said: they are wonderful and they are demanding and they cost you things.
I said: all of those things are true simultaneously.
I said: and none of them cancel each other out.
He said: I know that now.
I said: you’re going to be a father soon.
He looked at me.
Lucas and Sarah were expecting.
They had told me in the first week of my stay.
They had been happy to tell me.
Sarah had been shy about it.
Happy and shy at once.
I had been so glad.
I said: when the baby is here.
I said: and the nights are long.
I said: and you are exhausted.
I said: and the cost of everything is more than you thought it would be.
I said: remember this conversation.
He said: yes.
I said: and when you remember it.
I said: I want you to think about what I did for forty years.
I said: not to feel guilty.
I said: to understand what is possible.
I said: when you love someone completely.
He said: yes.
He said: Mom.
He said: I want to tell you something.
I said: yes.
He said: I was scared.
I said: of what.
He said: of watching you need things.
He said: I have never seen you need anything.
He said: my whole life.
He said: you were the one who handled things.
He said: and then you were on crutches in my guest room.
He said: and you needed help to get to the bathroom.
He said: and I didn’t know how to be the person who helped.
He said: because I had never seen that role before.
He said: you were always the one who helped.
He said: and I didn’t know how to be you.
He said: and it scared me.
He said: and I said a terrible thing because I was scared.
I looked at my son.
He was thirty-eight years old.
He was the person I had raised.
He was not a bad person.
He was an ignorant one who had been taught to receive without knowing how to give.
And that was my teaching.
My incomplete teaching.
And now we were here, both of us, learning something new.
I said: I understand.
He said: you do.
I said: yes.
I said: Lucas.
He said: yes.
I said: I need you to learn something.
He said: yes.
I said: I need you to learn how to be the person who helps.
I said: not just when it’s easy.
I said: when it costs you something.
He said: yes.
He said: I know.
He said: can we start over?
He said: with the staying?
He said: can I do it again. But differently.
I said: yes.
I said: that’s all I wanted.
Zoe said: Mom.
She had been quiet for most of it.
She said: I should have come sooner.
She said: when you got hurt.
She said: I should have come immediately.
I said: you’re here now.
She said: it’s not enough.
I said: Zoe.
She said: yes.
I said: you called every week.
I said: you called every other week.
I said: you called monthly.
She said: I know.
I said: I’m not saying that to accuse you.
She said: I know.
I said: I’m saying.
I said: you kept calling.
She said: yes.
I said: that was something.
I said: not everything.
I said: but something.
She said: I want to do better.
I said: yes.
I said: I know you do.
She said: Mom.
She said: the shoes.
I said: yes.
She said: the ones with the anchor.
I said: yes.
She said: I have a photograph of Lucas in them.
