There's so much between what she said and what he heard.

She said: I’m angry
He heard: I’m leaving

She said: I’m sad
He heard: It’s your fault

And communication broke down even further. Several weeks of struggle ensue.


Scene: Christmas Eve, 2005. Fire blazing in the fireplace, hot cider simmering on the stove, Mannheim Steamroller playing softly in the background, pork tenderloin roasting in the oven, a 4-layer carrot cake rests in the center of the dining table.

6pm, the designated hour, comes and goes. 7 … 8 … 9 …

Jona is crushed and launches into a “I hate everybody” tirade but within minutes changes his tune to “Mom, do you think he’ll ever really be ok?” My only answer is “I hope so”, and Jona quietly responds "I hope so too, Mom" as we sit in front of the fire quietly watching "A Christmas Carol".