I couldn't bring myself to participate on the 15th, not with a new baby in my belly, so close to being born. Too sad to let it all the way in. But yesterday I remembered, and I sat and felt, for a little while, and I lit my pine tree candle and watched it burn and listened to that song that still makes me almost-cry. They are only a little bit here now, those two, and mostly Somewhere Else. But I remember. How imposssibly small they were. The fear and the beauty and the violence and the love. The abruptness of their start and stop. The metallic tang of blood. The pain that threatened to tear me apart but instead began to show me I am whole.
Life is a reckless, passionate lover, and death is a quiet and patient old friend, and I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry anymore.