I made a rule for myself in October, in the worst of the difficult middle period, and the rule has held: I will not pretend to be further along than I am, and I will not pretend to be further behind than I am either. Some weeks the anger is loud. Some weeks it is quiet. I am trying to report accurately, to myself and to the people involved, where I actually am. This is harder than performing either bitterness or forgiveness. It is also more honest, and honesty is the thing I am most committed to now.
The program will serve its highest number of households this December. Ruth and I are both going to be there on delivery day, which means there will be two people on the organizational side who know each other and trust each other and can coordinate in real time rather than through messages. This is practically useful and also something I look forward to in a way that is not entirely practical.
My daughter is alive. Her husband is kind. His mother is someone I am glad to know.
I was supposed to be dead. I am not. That is the whole story, and it turns out to be more than enough.