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.

More than ever, big crisis makes me long for family to take care of
Love & Hope — Episode 11:
The gifts we give children shape them and reveal what we expect of them
The best romantic relationships end up becoming mutual rescue
Lousy personal choices are at root of most of our problems
Governments can recognize rights, but no government creates rights
Sick of partisan political conflicts? Join me in taking a 90-day break
What if Jesus was serious about commands he gave his followers?
Weddings are triumphs of love and hope over reasonable fears