Gideon was upset. Lydia had been given a rare opportunity to sit on her mother’s lap in the old rocking chair in the corner where they had spent so many comforting days long ago when the world was more simple. More quiet. Less complicated. And Gideon was upset. He stood at the base of the chair tugging at Lydia’s pink night shirt and wailed in his practiced way. Mother and Lydia ignored him for as long as possible, but finally they gave in. Lydia agreeably climbed down and softly helped her brother climb up onto his mother’s lap. I watched from across the room. “Lydia,” I called, motioning with my arms. “Lydia, come here and you can sit with me on the couch.” She…