There’s soft music playing quietly in the background, belying the silence of my home. I sit at my kitchen counter writing, as David does loops around the island. We call this his bathroom dance. He never goes directly to the bathroom, but makes these loops for a while until he either sits back down on the couch or stops in front of the bathroom door, waiting for assistance. As I watch him now, with his head bowed as he walks slowly and silently by, he reminds me of a Zen monk engrossed in walking meditation.

Perhaps David was a monk in a prior life. I used to call him my silent Buddha. I even gave a talk about him once with that title. Living with David has brought me to my knees. He has challenged aspects of myself that cry out for things to be different, aspects of myself that fight against what is. For years I allowed these aspects to have their voice, to rage against the past, the present and the future. But as I have matured and faced these aspects, I have fallen to my knees, opened my heart and bowed my head before the vast silence of what is.