True story. I cooked, cleaned & paid bills in my daughter’s house. She said, “If you can’t work, what’s the point of you being here?”

He never once asked how I was sleeping.

He never once noticed when I was limping.

He moved through the house as though I were part of its infrastructure.

Useful, stationary, not requiring of anything in return.

There was one evening, I think it was a Wednesday in February, cold and dark by 5:00, when I had made a full roast chicken dinner because it was continue reading …