My friend asked the question out of the blue. I was spending the night with my friend, Larry, and I was lying on a twin bed in the corner of his room.
“What do you think about your mom being gone?” he asked.
It didn’t strike me as a difficult or important question, but something about the experience has burned everything about it into my memory. I was about 10 or 11 years old. Although my mother had been away from us off and on for years, the divorce had been final only for a year or two. She had no custody or official visitation.
I considered Larry’s question for a long moment. I felt very cold. Very hard. There was no emotion in my voice.
“I couldn’t care less if she moved to the Sahara Desert,” I said.
That’s all I said and Larry didn’t ask any more. It’s a good thing, because I might have cried if he had pushed to know what I meant. I was confused. I couldn’t tell if I felt nothing or if I felt more than I could handle. I swept the feelings under a rug in my heart — and I left them there.

Trump supporter: Trump imposes crippling tariffs to get rid of tariffs
FRIDAY FUNNIES (for Christmas)
Free speech is our natural right, not a gift granted by politicians
The child in me never learned to feel at home as part of a group
There are more of us than ever, so why do many of us feel so alone?
My need to make others perfect reflects my fear I’m not in control
I’m shutting the whole world out, but I’m also waiting to be rescued
When I’ve done something great, nothing seems impossible to me
Those of us eager to meet Jesus aren’t eager to depart this world