There was a long pause in the conversation (videochat) and my father looked around, everywhere but the screen, as if there was something else to see next to him. I know the house, though, and I know that to the left of the computer there is a wall and to the right is shelf with nothing on it.

"I want to go to Alaska," he says when he finally looks back at me. The statement hangs for a minute, as we both think of the mountain of time that stands between him and the point in his life when he'll be able to comfortably travel that far.

He looks down at his lap and moves the mouse around, then to his left and right again, at the wall and the shelf. Then it occurs to me that maybe he actually is looking at all that empty, and his disposition seems a bit more warranted.