When the Phone Doesn't Ring
When the Phone Doesn't Ring There was a stretch of years when nobody called me, and if I am honest, I had made sure of it. I had burned through the people who loved me one slammed door at a time, and by the end I was sitting in rooms by myself with the television on for noise, telling myself I preferred it that way. I did not prefer it. I was just too proud and too broken to say how much the silence hurt. Loneliness has a particular weight to it. It is not the same as simply being alone. You can be surrounded by coworkers all day and still come home to an ache nobody in that building would have understood if you had tried to explain it. You can sit in a pew on Sunday and still feel like the one person in the building who does not quite belong. The mind starts doing strange math in that silence, telling you that if you mattered, someone would have reached out by now, that the quiet is proof of something true about your worth. David knew this ache well before I ever did, and ...