Just last week I was telling someone that this month (today actually) marks 3 years since you died.
And then, just like, implausibly, some people take a long time to remember their age, I realized that I was off by a whole year.
It is two years. But you have to hush your grief in this world after 6 months. Or 6 weeks. No one wants to hear. You are supposed to move on.
Last week, we are on our way to Washington, DC for a Harvard Reunion- (already half of you think I am lying or at minimum in way over my head) and I am already wondering best practices for faking superior intelligence, when I find out that 6 of us are going to be having a 7:30 breakfast at the mall
One Wednesday, maybe 6 years ago, we had a famous author to one of our ‘famous’ JORO dinners. You remember these Wednesday night dinners where anyone of us could invite anyone who had become interesting in our lives, a friend, the postman, a teacher, a boyfriend, a new pal, an old pal. It was my way of having my life and family bigger not smaller than it once was. This is happy.