The sons of single mothers inevitably encounter well-meaning family members who like to remind us about our role as “the man of the house.” The statement usually made me wince, the way it implicitly merged the roles of son, father, and husband; the way it erased the grown woman to whom the house actually belonged. But standing in our living room, watching her gasp, I realized that the two paramedics were looking at me, as if a question had already been asked and they were patiently waiting for an answer. My mother, hunched forward, resting her elbows on her legs, was also staring up at me. I
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