Whenever she seems to need me, I have this sensation at the top of my head like a soft, gentle pressure. No pain. It’s a signal that she seeks to connect. If I ignore it, the feeling becomes a small choking sensation in my throat.

It’s like hearing the old AOL email notification: You’ve got mail.

When I experience synchronicity, I feel pressure that moves from the pit of my stomach into my chest, as if she’s reaching into my heart. Often, this triggers tears and sobbing I didn’t see coming.

A boy of eight sits alone in his bed. Wide awake at a quarter to ten. The bedside lamp throws pale yellow light through the slightly ajar door and into the hallway beyond, where the darkness swallows it whole.

Beside the lamp, a small Sony AM radio. He has it tuned to the only station that comes in clearly — Mantovani’s orchestra waltzes the room, faint and unhurried. He keeps the volume low. His parents sleep next door. His older siblings beyond them.