I never saw my mother cry except when her Volvo arrived and it was not the right shade of blue when it was delivered from the factory She did not cry when I nearly choked to death from my long scarf getting tangled in my bicycle while I was riding down the hill, or when my brother fell out of the car while we were in Edgartown on vacation or when I was fished out of the Motel pool by the lifeguard. No. She never noticed those things. Instead she cried over movies and things she heard about on TV news. But she never cried over us.

One Christmas I came home and she was completely distraught telling the story of a man stopping to help someone and was killed. She was unreachable. That tragedy overtook her. She was gone. Unavailable. Preoccupied. Never noticed I drove hours and hours to get there.