Well, I made the curry. I knocked at his door, waited, waited, heard a sound, poked my head in. He was in bed l, had been asleep. The air in the room was heavy, intense sadness. I whispered “Thank you for getting my favourite curry, I’ve made my dinner so heated another up for you if you want it.” Then I left without waiting for a response. No pressure. Thinking about it, he’s been quiet in his room all week. I normally hear his phone. YouTube, a game, horse racing. But this past week I have not. He’s severely depressed. This is his crisis. I leave him to it. Now that I know I’ll not make his food along with mine. I’ve said my appreciation. Now he needs uninterrupted space.
