It happened on a Tuesday in April — a strange, in-between day, neither warm enough to be spring nor cold enough to be comfortable. My son Caleb returned home from his best friend Louis’s funeral, and for the first time in twelve years, he was silent. No heavy backpack hitting the floor, no “I’m starving” grumbled under his breath, no sounds of game controllers clicking in the living room. He walked straight to his room and closed the door quietly, as though the very noise of the world might shatter him.
