Abba was gone by dawn, not to return until after ten p.m.

I

’m sure there was a time in the early years when, still too young to know better, I didn’t sense his absence, couldn’t trace the outline of space where he was meant to be.

But by the time I was aware enough to reflect on my family’s dynamics, Abba’s role was fixed, immutable as the law of gravity, and I had no choice but to simply contend with matters as they were.

Abba was a doctor who treated patients so sick that absolute dedication to their recovery was an essential feature of his job. On the whole, I was proud of his accomplishments. When his patients and their families spoke of his compassion in the most superlative terms, comparing him to a ministering angel, to a holy man, I’d drop my eyes with affected modesty and murmur, “Yes, thank you, he’s so happy to have helped.” But another part of me flinched with raw disappointment that I didn’t share in their good fortune. Because Abba was never home.