Words are powerful as love,
transforming only by taking us as we are.
—Anne Michaels

I have long since discovered that I’m not alone in recalling the precise time and place when children, irrespective of age, inform their parents, usually with great trepidation, of a secret they feel compelled to share. When I’m apprised of my oldest daughter’s urgent need to tell us something, I can’t foresee, in that moment and beyond, how a revelation will propel me on a trajectory that is still ongoing. I think back to one bitterly cold night in August when language falters and I stumble. Unprepared for what I’m about to hear, I recline into the curved back of my worn armchair. My husband turns down the television’s volume; only the flickering light from the screen tells me that Jerry Seinfeld will continue to make the rest of the world laugh, while mine appears to have come to a screeching halt.