Sometimes things are so sad, and so hard, and not your story to tell – and they follow you in and out of rooms and around corners and out into the street and you feel like you're riding on some perverted, malformed roller coaster.
There's nothing to do, really, but apologize for the maudlin language, sit back and hang on for dear life.
Like the Counting Crows song about sitting in the hills in Hollywood hoping "this year will be better than the last." The new year is coming so I suppose that's worth considering. It's hard though.
For those of you who know us, nobody's sick and nobody's dead and we're still married and our family seems fine. This is something else. And it's really, really hard – because it doesn't feel right or fair or even sensible. We've gotten through everything else so I guess we'll get through this too. I wouldn't even bring it up but I own those of you who are still taking the trouble to stop by here an explanation for the silences between posts. Just wish us well, OK?