The following is next in a series of excerpts from my journal, written during the last year of Dave's life.
We had a visitor today, someone we rarely see, but who is needier even than we, and on a day Dave felt less than great. The friend intimated that he could tell how hard things are without me saying anything. How bad do I look, anyway? I finished reading A Whole New Life as he was walking up the driveway, thinking I felt pretty good. Don’t get that. And it doesn’t much matter. This is our life and I thank you for it, God.
Dreamed later about being hurt, about having to meet people in public who make me sad and awkward. Everybody asks me about how we’re doing and I’m still trying to figure out how to be honest and decent at the same time.