I guess because of the fight Friday night I felt some strange combination of vulnerability and invincibility. Or maybe I simply had a check-in moment with mortality. At any rate, I decided yesterday afternoon to do what I've been wanting to do for two years. I returned to the home I was forced to leave, knocked on the door and asked David to talk.
He listened, to his credit. The content is personal. But it's hard to face down some of the realities. Two years have gone by. Two years. It's not going to get any better. I have healed as much as I am going to heal.
The sorrow is bad but manageable. It's just hard to think that it will always be there.
I'm grateful he listened.
The photo above is David and me in happier times.
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