Love

Progressing, slowly, hopefully surely -- actually, intermittently surely and then full of doubts, immobilized by fits of crying, which means, I think, I'm on the right track. I keep thinking, 'Wish I'd started a decade earlier,' but then I wouldn't have had the necessary distance. Manuscript growing; heart open wide. Hope I stay healthy/alive till 90 so I can get it all done -- die absolutely vital; 'in media res.' And so I can be here to watch my lovely angels grow; be here for them. Seven is already painful, I can tell; five is happy, but my girl, like my boy, will suffer I know and I want to be their cushion; their oxygen when they can't get enough. I posted a picture of my daughter on Face Book and so many people said, in effect, 'She's you.' I can only wish -- and wish she can get through it all stronger than I did. Can't stand to think there will be dark times, but these are what has informed my writing, so who am I to say? Let the light shine. As the song goes that we sing on our way to school, 'Shine, shine, shine, shine, shine, shine, shine.'