And then I thought again about all the things I didn’t know. Three months to learn about his OCD. Four months to learn his name. Eight months to think of him as sad. Things that forced me to acknowledge there was a gap in the completeness I wanted between Ming and me. Maybe we stood at either end of a rift, two bluffs separated by the things I didn’t know. Experts know how little they know. That’s what Dad liked to say. Still, not knowing could be painful.
