Jake is being very sweet and communicative. He tells me he sent my father a Valentine's card and letter because we don't appreciate him enough. He is curling my hair for me. He is painstakingly putting it up on tiny screws. Dwight is there somewhere, watching. I am trying to figure out how to talk to him about his upcoming divorce and reassure him that it's OK to talk about his feelings. He and I walk to a wall area, where we can talk alone, as he continues to put up my hair. I lean against the wall and think to myself, "Maybe this isn't such a good time to talk about this; he'll get angry and maybe pull my hair." Then he says, "You saw me at the beginning of the thing. So I was upset, but I'm fine now. Everything is just fine." I realize with a sinking heart, he's totally in denial. "Fine?" I ask incredulously. He reassures me emphatically, "Everything is fine." Then my father is in the room, walking with a small girl, maybe a cousin or grandchild. He is going toward the door to the next room and I look up and yell, "Look out," just as the door pops off its hinges and crashes down on him. It's made of glass. The top half is a pretty etched and frosted glass and the bottom half is a regular window glass. It breaks, and he stands up, trying to hop out of the door frame. He steps into the bottom half and breaks it. He says he's OK and I yell, "Check for cuts. Check for cuts." He looks himself over and there seems to be no damage. The little girl had scurried for another room and I went in there to see if she's all right.