Sitting in a hospital room again not for myself, but for someone I love. I’ve played this role before, the one called the proxy. Not by choice, but by proximity, by blood, by quiet competence. Some roles we inherit simply because we’re the ones who won’t look away.

Some conversations build walls. Others build character. A lifetime of talks with parents, children, a friend whose memory drifts reveals that words are only the surface. What we’re really exchanging is ourselves.