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Two Months LaterI wake up to see the walls of my teenage bedroom, which my mom had turned into a craft room after I left for college and which my dad has only recently gotten around to boxing up, even though she died six years ago. The walls are bare, and the bed is a twin that’s a little too short, but I’ve opted to sleep in here instead of the guest room because this has a window that faces the slight hill at the end of our street. I like to look at it when I’m in here praying or doing lectio.
Also it’s not like I really have anywhere else to go.
As a plumber, Dad keeps early hours too, and so by the time I’m done praying vigils, he’s already stirring. When he comes into the kitchen, I’ve made coffee for us both, and we sit at the table in silence, watching dawn break over the ba
