 I just had a strong cry, the kind of cry that shakes you. The silent kind, the one that takes hold of your body and surrenders it to the unbelievable truth: Your love is dead. I had been writing about George.* Our first months together, in particular the afternoon I went to him to “end things” and ended up under his covers instead. That afternoon I needed not so much to break up with him, but to tell him: I know I’m going to break your heart, and I’m sorry. But that never happened. Who broke whose heart? George, my sweet George, it has been almost 3 years and I still ask myself this question: Where have you gone? How could you have left this world so suddenly, so easily, so spotlessly? Poof. And you were gone. Poof. And my life was to go on without you. Poof. Life would never be the same again. When I think of you like this -- these memories, recreating their image, placing my body back in time with yours, allowing myself to feel you, to recall the details; what we wore, how you smelled, the sound of your voice; the way you spoke to me, softly and with certainty; the way your eyes lit up, the way you closed them when I touched your hair; it is all so familiar to me still, and that surprises me, and I am grateful. I fear the day when I will no longer remember. When the words on these pages will be my only way in. The interesting thing about a cry like this is that, while gripping and painful and seemingly unbearable, it brings a notable sense of relief: I have not forgotten you, I have not moved on from you, I still feel for you, I still love you. You mean something to me. It was not all a dream. *I am writing again. It is the same book, and it is a different book. Stay tuned for updates.  I have arrived. This is the moment when things begin to come into focus. The boxes are unpacked, the curtains are hung, (most of) the heavy lifting is done. My child, by some miracle, is asleep in her room at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and I am here on this couch (this couch that is no longer my bed!) and for the first time in months I feel calm, and rested, and ready to explore.
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