If I remember anything about those first days and weeks, it is that your mind thinks of nothing else except your child. Instead, my wife and I assure David that we love him more than he could know, and say we are here for him, no matter what. I’m 1,500 miles and a week away from being home. I wish I could be there to hug my son, but that will have to wait. She lets me know that our son is gay, that he left a note for her the previous evening. In the second it takes me to say I am sitting down and ask what’s wrong, my heart is already in my throat, fearing that she’s about to tell me someone has died. When I call my wife to say good morning, she asks if I’m sitting down, because she has something to tell me.
I’m in the middle of a two-week business trip, and I’m waking up in New Orleans, LA. It’s early Sunday morning in December 2012.
