I worried about that too. After Henry’s death, I spent a few years blaming myself for not having been more available to him. I wondered if he’d just needed more people in his life. Someone to complain to. Someone to reassure him. I could have helped lessen the cortisol coursing through him. He had me, and I could have reminded him of that. While he was alive, I chose to believe that whatever we had between us was mutual, but I wonder now if he was waiting for me.
