I remember the conversation where we offered, sitting at this same kitchen counter, Zachary on the phone with his mother while she cried a little about the roof, me nodding along and mouthing of course, of course they should come.

There was no hesitation in it, no weighing of the imposition, because that is simply what you do; when family has a hole in their roof and you have an empty room, the room becomes theirs, and you do not make them feel for one second that it is a burden.

I say this because I want it on the record that I loved them, that offering the room was easy and glad and never once resented, even at the six-month mark when I would have given a great deal for a single evening with my house entirely to myself.

The love was real and constant throughout.