somehow in the same year, I’d lost my son too, even though he was still right there, eating cereal across the counter from me every morning with his eyes on his phone.
And lately, it had gotten worse.
That spring, there were whole days when he barely said a word to me. Not a fight. No slammed doors. Just nothing. I’d say good morning, and he’d nod. I’d ask how school was, and he’d shrug.
“How are you doing, bud? Really?”
“Fine.”
It was always fine.
Then one afternoon in
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