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.

Maturity asked me to learn that I’d never win certain arguments
In a world full of hate and hurt, love must be a conscious choice
Goodbye, Courtney Haden
We frequently go back to the past hoping to find a different future
There’s a secret to contentment that selfish people never accept
There are more of us than ever, so why do many of us feel so alone?
There’s magic in the dark solitude and quiet stillness after midnight
Would getting away from civilization help us live better?
Most important thing you’ll do for your child is selecting other parent