You need to dosomething for yourselfis what she used tosay to mewhile I stood washingthe dishes or foldingthe children’s pileof warm clothes.Now I believe thatshe was talkingto herself like a knightstaring off overthe hay roofs ofsome unimportant villageinto the doors of adark and unknowncastle, saying I’m meantfor more than this.I don’t understandwhy braveryso often comes withcruelty. I would be happystaring at my kidsall day. I would be happywatching snow fallonto the green glassof a greenhouseuntil the glass brokeand the tomatoes insidefroze hard as baseballs.My mother tells a storyabout bringing hersons to the mall whenwe were eightand says I saw howpeople looked at youand your brother, youwere such prettychildren I was worriedsomething wouldhappen to you. I onlyremember her lookingat us, saying I could havelooked at you all day.The last time I talkedto my fatherwas the night ofmy older brother’scremation. He was sittingon a couch staringinto an empty fireplace.I hadn’t seen himfor years but justthen I wanted to sit nextto him like you woulda child you foundlost in the mall,and say it’s ok, let’sfind your parents, theymust be here somewhere.I think I said, Allen,I’m sorry Darin is gone.And he made a soundlike a child might makewhen reaching up fora mother’s handonly to realize that it’s not theirmother. He sighedand said it’s so strangenot having a son anymore.And my father was right,his son was deadand gone and thatwas the beginning andthe end of any storyI might ever tellabout love. Yesterday,going to the storeto buy nighttime diapersfor Owen, I found myselfso happy that everyonehad to wear masks.That I didn’t have tolook at anyone’s face.That I didn’t have tolook at mine. I watchedas boxes of differentkinds of cereal glidedby, watched cansof vegetables becomecans of fruit. The musicplaying in my headwas so beautifulit was like the soundmy children’s mothermade when she used towalk through our housein her socks.