I hate it when I'm right in the wrong occasions. Although not as drastic as imagined, the great blow for the family's saviour arrived only one day late. I dreaded such an outcome from the notice of the challenge more than four months ago, and my fear was confirmed in advance today.

Just as I returned from the Friday swim, I found him eagerly anticipating my return staring at the box with his mind imagining his degraded future. We've just spent two hours in deep emotional expression, during which I was trying my best to be of comfort. The power and intensity of conversation in depressive circumstances is remarkable. I believe it has all to do with the presence of mind and effort put into the conversation, which follows instinctively in an attempt to sustain the upset person.