M talks about a 2 am death freak-out she had in the motel at Numurkah where we shared a room. ‘I kept looking at things in the room—chairs, a table—and thinking, “What are they for?” ’ Why didn’t she wake me? My punishment for her arms-length upbringing is her powerful independence, her resolute not-need of me. But when I told my friend with cancer this story he said, ‘Two things. First, she’s able to get through a dark night of the soul without needing to wake anyone. Second, dark nights of the soul are personal. You feel you want to go right to the end of it, and afterwards you’re proud of yourself for getting through it alone.’