‘But it would be nice,’ I said, ‘to wake up on Mother’s Day and, like every other mother in this country, to get a card from her son.’ Jacob thought about this. ‘What day is Mother’s Day?’ he asked. I told him, and then I forgot about the conversation, until May 10. When I went downstairs and started my Sunday morning coffee-making routine, I found an envelope propped up against the glass carafe. In it was a Mother’s Day card. It didn’t say Dear Mom. It wasn’t signed. In fact, it wasn’t written on at all – because Jacob had only done what I’d told him to do, and nothing more. That day, I sat
...more
