Would That I Might

I am still feeling pretty lousy, even at this point.  I woke up this morning feeling achy and cold again and was worried that I might be slipping backwards.  I'm sure that I am feeling better than I was a few days ago, of course, but it is still feeling pretty far from where I was before I caught this bug.

I am not safe while you are around I could explain my perspective and make you understand it, too, but I know that would be cruel and would do real harm. You don't understand  the problems, the real ones, and you speak of what you wish without recognizing what you are revealing. It is not good, is nothing kind or sympathetic, is, in fact, cruel and selfish,  You think you want safety, but it is a lie. You want to control. That is the truth your words express. I know you won't realize but you are the one who is dangerous, you are demanding comfort because you can't handle other people actually existing.

I am finding that a lot of the flash fiction I am writing is less narrative, focusing on exploring character instead.  Nothing much happens in many of them, and what does happen isn't really all that important, except as a way to let the character reveal things about how they think.  I am not always satisfied writing these things, to be honest, but I think they are often quite interesting in their own way.  I just wish that I was a bit better with crafting more of a narrative on the fly.  Perhaps with time that is a skill that I will develop.

He has not returned or if he has it has been kept secret from me.  I hope it is not intentional, that he did not come and stay away. I doubt that but I worry. He has been my good friend for a long while but I am not a confident man and I worry there might be reasons he would disappear, that I have done something, that he has decided against me and I won't see him again. I have no reason to think that. It is absurd.  We have been friends for many years now and I know it is fine, he is just busy, has things that draw him away, but I do worry. I have been hurt before and would rather  protect myself than be unprepared.

I am keeping up with my flash fiction, still, but I am finding it rather difficult at times.  I wish that I had more confidence in my efforts, at least on the basic level of feeling like I always have a story that I could write.  In the end, I always seem to find something that I can see as a story of some type, but I am still feeling very uncertain around fiction, even after this time.  Maybe it is just something I need to get used to, or it might be that I can embrace it in some way, learn to trust that lack of clarity and follow it towards something.  I suppose that's what I wind up doing most of the time, even if it is not my plan or preference.

Unsafe I know it is not right for me to say anything, that I should have no opinion, but I do have one and I have feelings about it, and I can't help that it seems clear you don't understand the problem.  I do not want to feel unsafe, unwelcomed, do not want to go back to a place that harmed me, that mistreated us all. You do not care, it seems, but it bothers me, and you would choose that and make it necessary that I return.  That is not alright, though I can not speak of it because I know it will be said I am only causing trouble.

Still recovering from this bug, whatever it is,  My throat is sore and I am tired and achy, still, though I was able to get out and about a bunch more today.  I have the gym again in the morning tomorrow which I am kind of dreading at the moment.  I went on Tuesday and it really kicked my butt, but maybe I will do better this time.

Do not tell me this is proof of our success This is nothing, or not nothing but nothing much, is not enough to pretend it means more, not without it being cruel. You need to know how much it hurts that you want this to be enough. If this were anything I would not need help. It is insulting that you pretend it is more, and it suggests you do not understand, and, worse, it is because you do not care.

Today was the first day since I was sick that I really felt up to doing much of anything, though that isn't to say that I am feeling entirely better yet.  I have been congested and my throat hurts, and I am still a bit achy as well, though that is greatly reduced.  I would say that I am back at about 70% right now, which is to say that I am feeling quite a bit better, even if I wouldn't say I was over whatever this is quite yet.

You think it is a small thing That is your opinion: it is not what matters to you, but this is not about you. It is not you who is impacted. It is nothing for you. The entire matter is nothing in your life. It is only a tangent that intersects where we do. It is mine, is for me. It matters to me, is not a small thing in my esitmation. All I wanted was your support but you will say it is not important, after all, how could it be when it does not matter to you?

I would not say that I feel well at this point, but I do feel quite a bit better than I have been.  In fact, Melissa and I went out to lunch with my Mother this afternoon, which is the first that I really felt up to going out even for just a few minutes.  I'm still feeling far less than my best, but it is still a drastic and appreciated improvement.

I have done so much and yet it is nothing, I was only preparing for the real work, if the work is to be done, and I know it must be. Too much is not done, too much is done that is not finished, either, too much waits. There is all of it waiting, there is enough for it to be everything, but it is not anything yet, is only the ingredients and the intention of a recipe.

I am still sick tonight.  Melissa went out to church on her own earlier and then went to have dinner with my mother.  I am expecting her to arrive home at any time now, and am kind of uncertain about what to expect.  I'm still feeling pretty awful right now, though a bit less achy, I think.  Even so, I still feel a bit guilty that I wasn't able to celebrate Melissa's holiday with her tonight.

You provoke  and then deny and use my response as proof I am the one who is the problem, but it is not that way. You provoke, you push, you set me up and flash anger or disapproval, you judge each thing with harshness in your voice. You will tell me I am the one who starts it because what you do is not allowed to be a problem. That is what you have decided. It is not the truth and I am not certain what to do. It is no good. Neither of us is benefitting.

This bug just won't let go.  I keep hoping to feel better the next day, and I guess that I have been improving slightly, but not enough for it to feel like I am really on the mend yet.  I am trying to remain hopeful about tomorrow being the day, but I am unconvinced.  The way I feel tonight, I would be rather surprised if I did feel that much improved in the morning.

Only One It was nothing unexpected and nothing you did, either.  I do not need to celebrate it this way. It does not redeem things or create the triumph you want to pretend is present.  It matters. I am not going to say there is no value at all or that I am not glad, but it is not enough to change things.

I am still sick.  I'd hoped I would feel better today, but no luck.  I am assuming that I'll still be sick tomorrow at this point.  To be honest, I would prefer to think that and be wrong than the opposite. I do hope that I will be up to going out for Christmas Eve, but I am feeling less optimistic about that than I had been.

I have not said much of anything about the details of what you have done. I don't think she knows them, but I have not said a thing, though it seems relevant, and I do believe it is would be good if she knew, would be right for her to have the information. But I am not the one who can do that. I know, it would be petty and cruel if I told her.  But it is what you did and it is relevant.  I suppose I feel guilty not saying anything, but I know I cannot tell her. You would not understand or be forgiving even if all I said was the truth about who you are and what you have done.

I am still feeling ill, though I think I am a bit better than yesterday.  Again,  I spent most of the day resting in bed and taking it easy.  I am hopeful that I will really start to feel normal again tomorrow.

The Timing Was Bad It is saddening although it is minor and I should just let it go and not be all that upset. it should be nothing much. I am an adult and should handle it without making a fuss or being out of joint. No one did it on purpose, it was just what happened. Still, it does bother me. Small a thing as it is, it feels like another time when joy has been stolen.

Spent most of my birthday in bed sick.  I am starting to feel a little better at the moment, but I plan to take it easy again tomorrow, just to be on the safe side.  If nothing else, it feels like a good idea to remain quarantined for at least another day or so.  Anyhow, at least I did get my writing done, which I feel good about. 

I Submitted That Poem It might have been a mistake but it is done now, so what else can I say about it? I have to wait and find out if there is an aftermath. It seems possible but I don't know how likely.  It is troubling how often telling the truth can feel dangerous when it is so personal and involves  the people you are closest with.

Well, I caught whatever it is that Melissa came down with.  It doesn't seem to be covid (we have both tested).  Right now, I am all congested, but my main symptoms have been aches and chills.  I slept most of the day.  I am hoping that I will feel at least a bit better tomorrow, though it is clear we won't be going out to celebrate on my birthday.

It is the heat that matters the warmth,  I turn it up all of the way and I wish it could get hotter, even. The warm water helps with the chills, and sooths the aching, some, as well. I wish it could be hotter, though. Or maybe it is not the temperature but the water pressure. Maybe I just want more of it.

Melissa is still not feeling well tonight,  I am trying to remain optimistic that she might feel better in the morning, but I don't know how realistic that is.  If she isn't feeling any better, I am thinking we will need to just cancel our plans for Wednesday, which is a bit upsetting, though it shouldn't really be that big of a deal.  It is just another birthday, right.  I do hope that we can find a way for us to celebrate together at home, though.  It is just a matter of finding a way to make it feel a bit special, really.

I know it was said There was a conversation. I was quite explicit about what would not be alright, about why I was hesitant. It was important.  I was clear. It was not easy for me to be clear with you. I do not find it easy to tell you anything. I should have been careful, maybe, should have considered that was a sign.  I was eager, though, or just afraid and desperate. That is not important, though. I want to know you heard me and understood, but what you said, it was clear you have made plans that obligate me in ways that I find  contradict our agreement. I need those obligations to not have been made. It is not alright for them to even exist. I won't be able to escape, now, not without real harm, but following this path will destroy me. I already feel destroyed just knowing what you have done, the way it is now. I am not certain how to believe you thought this was helping.

Melissa is feeling sick and we are worried about what it could be.  I should probably be quarantining from her, but I haven't been going out or anything, so at least I am not going to infect anyone else.  I am focusing on trying to take care of her, but I do hope that she feels better tomorrow.  Wednesday is my birthday, and I really do not want to spend it in quarantine at the house, especially since we have no kitchen at the moment because of the renovation.

Back again Not forward not the movement that began before.  Momentum should be there but I won't allow it. I can be an obstacle to my own efforts. I can choose that. I have reasons. It is not a mistake. I am telling myself it is not a mistake at all and I have reasons. I am certain that is enough to make it alright. No.  I am certain it does not make it right, but it is enough for me to say it is even to myself, at least for a moment, at least for long enough to move on and forget until the next time now that the momentum is pushing the opposite way.

I began working on my longer fiction pieces again today, as well as doing a bit of work on one of my other projects as well.  I had been letting that stuff sit around untouched for a week or so, focusing on my flash fiction and poetry instead, and I knew that I needed to make a conscious decision and push myself back into gear.  It is funny how much resistance I had to getting back to work on these things because it wasn't really that big of a deal.  I am already invested in these projects and have an idea of what is happening in them, so it isn't that difficult to write what comes next.  It is certainly easier than trying to come up with a new idea for a story every day, and I have kept up with that.

It is still waiting to be done and I keep forgetting, keep intending to take action but not doing it. I seem to only remember when it is impossible, when it is too late or the one day of the week when it can't be done. I wonder why I am forgetting so much. I do not think it can be an accident. Maybe if I forgot altogether but I keep reminding myself when I can do nothing and forgetting  the rest of the time. That seems significant and intentional.

I am still finding it difficult to get back to a more productive work schedule at the moment.  In part, I am sure it is that I gave myself permission to slack off a bit, and it is difficult to walk that back, especially because I am still writing and being productive, even if not to the same degree. I know it would be good to get back to doing more writing, but I also know that I am still meeting my core obligations, even if at a more minimal level.  Really, I just need to make the choice and force myself to stick to it.  To that end, I am planning to at least get back to work on my longer projects again tomorrow, even if I don't increase the poetry output right away.

Those Parameters Cannot Be Altered It was said before, was made clear from a time when nothing had started. I made certain you knew what was and was not and what would be good, or else, what will be bad. I do not have any waiting answer or a direction to point towards. I knew already what might come and was clear about needs and limits, about what would never be alright. I do not want to pretend it can be negotiated, but what is the answer? You have said too much, have revealed your inattentiveness. I am certain you will not understand the danger I am sensing. It is not a simple matter. The only way forward that is not destruction is to rebalance things, to make it as it should be. Tell me how to do it and make certain it is done. I am only asking for the care you promised me from the start.

Last night I talked about feeling I was making progress with my flash fiction, and today I am thinking that I cursed myself by saying that.  In truth, I am aware that this is how it goes so often.  I had several days when the work seemed to just flow out with ease and I started to get a bit excited about what that meant.  The truth is, though, that progress is rarely linear.  Tonight, I found it difficult to even come up with an idea for a story, and what I wrote feels a bit weak to me, if I am honest.  I have to accept that, though.  I can't expect to always be writing my best work; besides, often it is when I am having difficulty that I learn and develop the most as a writer.

Was it what it was supposed to be or did it become something else instead and who is there that has the capacity to know, not just a judgement or opinion but a knowing, a certainty of it as if there could be a fact. That is a problem with planning it out and categorizing the results to come: who is sure about any of it or has a good answer for telling what is and is not.  I don't want to float off into those places where it is not possible to be one thing or another, not without care and consideration. I do not mind the uncertainty itself or the questions that rise. That is never where the problem was. It is in the need for it to still have a name.

I am afraid to say it, but I might be getting more comfortable, finally, with improvising flash fiction.  I am becoming more capable of just starting a story without a clear sense of what it is going to be.  In some cases that won't work out, I am certain, which is quite normal.  I write a lot of poetry and I know that not every piece that I write is going to be a masterwork.  The point is that I am developing my skills as a writer, getting better with time.  Now, I am applying that approach to my fiction and I am starting to notice things beginning to shift in terms of my thought process around those works.  I think that a lot of it is really just my feeling a greater confidence when I sit down to write a new story.  I am finally getting to a point where I at least trust I will be able to come up with an idea for something.

It is done now and it was not hard, either, was not unpleasant or difficult. I should have been ready, should have been.  I was not. I was far from ready. It was not possible for me to be ready.  I had reasons. I know that is true, don't I?  I am sure, I think.  It was reasonable to wait.  It is fine that I did not rush. It is done anyway. I am not certain if it matters any longer, but it is only this which is done. It will be this way again.

I'm still finding myself somewhat concerned that I won't have an idea for a new piece of fiction each night, but I also have been able to write something each night since I started, despite my having chosen to write less in general.  I do wish that I felt more confident about writing fiction, and I know that is something that is likely to develop with practice and exposure.  As well, I am starting to recognize that I don't always need to know what I am writing when I start.  Often, it is just a matter of finding a place to begin and following the path it points towards.

There is more and a history and I could be mean about it all, could do and say and be and inflict and mean it all.  I think you are not going to know or understand or think or believe and it is sad, that is all wrong. It is what will happen and I won't act because I know it won't help or be appreciated and any good that came would be harmful on my end. I don't care that much, really, and I think it is foolish already, that it is clear enough, that it can be known. The signs are not hiding in caves or buried beneath the ocean, were not written in the ancient tongues of lost tribes. I won't break the silence, I won't reveal  the truth of these matters.  You understand only a moment and do not realize there is a shadow over it.  It has been too long and too much.  I am certain that it will escalate and worsen and I am not able to make it better. I wish it were possible to explain without it being called an attack. It is too bad that is the way things are because there

It was another night of somewhat lower output, as I am still feeling quite overwhelmed at the moment.  I think that I need to push myself back into gear over the next few days, maybe doing it in a gradual way.  I am aware, as I mentioned last night, that writing more is probably good for me.  This is not simply in terms of the actual results for my writing, either in the sense that I am writing more work in general, or in that it also improves the quality of my writing, resulting in more good writing, not just more writing.  That is true, but there are also other benefits for me, in terms of my own mental well-being.  For one thing, I do feel a sense of accomplishment and a certain pride about being productive, which I do recognize as somewhat shallow, but it is still there, and I think that I should be more proud of it and less judgmental about it as well.  I also know that writing is a way for me to consider and work through various things.  I often process ideas or experiences with

The mirror distorts and you cannot tell what is the same, but the reflections are not alterations to what is there, just an appearance. I wish you saw it all but from here instead. I would be glad to know what you observe. I think we are watching only the distortions. I hoped it would not do such harm but I think it is done, now, and it is too late for things to change  or get better again. Maybe, they could, but the work it will take is nothing I could do alone.

I am finding myself very overwhelmed recently.  It is the emotional weight of everything that has gone on, and I am not doing all that well with it right now, to be honest.  It's caused me to reduce my writing load recently, though I am treating that as temporary and hoping to spin back up one of these days.  Besides, even my slowed speed still involves writing a number of poems and a new piece of flash, so it is not as if I am stopping and slacking off altogether.  Funny how much I feel like I am failing at doing my work because of it when I spent a long time not writing anything most days.  To be honest, I am kind of glad that I feel like I am being lazy right now, because I know it will be good for me to return to writing more.

Changing The Plan There is what you tell me and what I believe and I do not know how to be sure what is true, but I do not believe you when you explain  your reasons.  I do not think it is honest or real. I think it is just more to demonstrate the problem. I think you do not care and it is only obligation. That is what it means when you tell me you are withdrawing, when you speak of changing plans in this way.  It is a separation, a choice to invoke distance, to remain apart and not with us. It mattered to me that you wanted  to spend time together in that way.  I know what has happened and I do not want to pretend it is not the reason. Be honest, at least. I do not want what is happening, but if it is to be this way, let me know. Do not pretend it can be hidden.

I am still kind of reeling from things.  I'm feeling very hurt and somewhat scared about what might result from the way things have been, and I am also a bit conflicted because I don't even know what I would want from this as an outcome, except, perhaps, in a very vague way that is mostly just what I would like it to feel like emotionally.  I don't think that is all that useful in present moment, though.  A large part of what is upsetting at the moment is that some members of my family have threatened drastic and rash actions in response to things being uncomfortable, and it all feels intentionally hurtful.  I can't help but notice, as well, that much of what is happening now is the direct result of other members of my family not being willing to allow anyone to express negative emotions, despite those feelings being a direct response to the circumstances that those same family members have created.

It is falling apart, or I am just failing to be the same, now, to do the same. It may be that is fine and I am just upsetting myself with paranoia and concern. I have not failed, have slowed and pulled back, perhaps, but not stopped or been absent from duty, even if I have been less diligent. I need to find a balance and let myself live with it. Probably, I won't do that. Probably, I will go backwards, will return to the way it was even though I know, now, that it is not always possible and may not be good for me going forward.

I talked about how last night was very unpleasant, and today has not been much improved.  It is a bunch of family drama and I am feeling very vulnerable around it right now.  There is a lot of reactivity and anger and pain right now, and I am afraid it is going to wind up with everyone doing hurtful and cruel things that can't be taken back.  It feels like that is where we are headed, and I do not want to go there.  I wish I felt like I knew a way to fix any of it and make it better, but I don't really know if that is possible, at least not without work that I am uncertain all of those involved are willing to take on.

It was the same thing before but it was the other way, the danger came from you. We did not feel safe. I think it is reasonable that we felt that way. I think it is clear. You knew: it was said. Now, you tell me it is the same thing but because it goes the other way it is not allowed. I do not think you understand the pain we feel and have felt. It is your own actions being reflected back. What happened was still a response to what you did before. We do not feel safe, but it does not matter until you determine that you are the victim.

I had a rather unpleasant evening tonight and I am still processing a lot of stuff.  It wasn't anything new, really, just a culmination of many long standing issues, but I feel it right now and I am at a point where it makes me think I need to make some really difficult choices.  I don't really know if there is a way to deal with this situation that won't be painful and require letting go of things that I would rather be able to hold on to. 

I did not do all of it but I still did more than I might have and there are reasons. It has to be said I can find reasons on other nights too, but I know, still, there are reasons tonight. Maybe they are an excuse but they are also real. It is hard to know if I am being honest or making an excuse, or maybe those categories are not relevant at all or too subjective to count. I had a bad night and told myself I could take it a bit easy. Turns out that is just a reason for being hard on myself in other ways.

I wish that I felt more confident when I just begin a story without a clear sense of the plot.  Very often, I want to begin working on my fiction, but I am really just uncertain of the plot or the characters.  In such moments, I am often feeling flustered and uncertain, and I think it is this feeling itself that makes it so difficult.  I know that I have ideas for stories, that they appear everywhere and all of the time, but then in the moment, when it is time, I start doubting myself.  I want to be able to trust myself that I can find the story, even if I begin writing without anything much more than an image or a first line. 

It takes more than doing more that is not enough for it all to be done. Maybe, with care and consideration, at least once with care and with consideration and without the rest of that always hangs there. It would be easy to pretend it is fine and has always gone that way and it will never be anything else. There is disaster inside, somewhere it is about to be ignited, is about to become  what it must, is finding a freedom. That could be wondrous, a good thing, a powerful thing. I do not want it, though. I am certain there will be destruction that I am not ready for.

I had an idea for a story in mind when I sat down to write this evening, but I was not certain just how to tell it or even if I was entirely certain that I wanted to tell it, but I knew that I wasn't going to be free of it if I didn't turn it into something.  Anyhow, I decided to write it in a very odd way, with a sort of direct address to the reader from the writer about the story.  I think that it did provide, in this particular story, a sort of playful counter-balance and an ability to be very distant from the story in a way that felt interesting for this piece.  I don't know, for sure, just how well it really works in this case.  Still, even if the story turns out to be an entirely bad piece of writing, which I do not believe to be true, I know that I still pushed my considerations of what I can do within a story.

There has to be shifting, adjusting a changing to make it work. It is more of this now and so there is a way that is felt over there and a need, as was said at the start, to adjust or shift or change it about and that is all. It is not a loss or a gain, or it is both and neither, or could be any of those outcomes alone if it is measured against another standard that measures just the one side, measures only what is taken as good or bad, and not as a piece. There is more to be known if it is seen as one, even the good and bad of it,  But why did I call it "good and bad?"  I do not know. that is not even what I think I meant, but I can't say I know for certain what it should have been since that is what I wrote and it is not a place of mind I think I can choose to enter.

I have an idea for a story, I think, though I am not certain I can make it work as a flash piece, and I am also feeling a bit unsure of how well I could write it in general.  In some ways, I think I am just afraid that it is going towards some dark themes and imagery, as well as taking on some serious topics and would need to be written from a perspective quite different from my own.  I am certain that I could just convince myself not to write it, really, and I am kind of afraid that might actually happen.  Honestly, I am hoping that by writing this blog post I can develop a stronger commitment to exploring this particular idea.  It may be that I won't actually be capable of writing this story, at least not writing it well, but even if that turns out to be the truth, I would still be learning and developing my writing skills through the effort.

I have chosen but I am unsure if I am strong enough to make it more than just an intention, but I think so, or hope, maybe more than think, and I am trying to change  the thoughts  that come first. I am trying to be glad. I should celebrate it, getting rid of what harms me should not be a cause of dread. I should celebrate even before I am certain. Even choosing is a step. I do not know what will come next, but I can know I am doing what is best. That is enough, maybe, to feel good before I even begin.

Writing flash fiction remains a challenge for me at the moment, and that is still largely the difficulty I am having starting pieces.  I do have a few approaches that seem to help a bit, but I don't really have a grasp on it the way that I feel I do with poetry.  I haven't written a great amount of fiction, at least not when compared to other writing I have done, particularly poetry, and so I am not as comfortable or familiar in this arena, which is natural.  I am learning, though, and have not failed to produce a piece of flash fiction each night for the last month or so.

I had not expected it but I don't think it was intended to be anything expected.  It was  not as if it was explained. No one was prepared or spoke of being ready. It was not sudden, I am sure of that, but they must have feared some kind of shift or panic or just being too ready. I don't know why  it was different, if it really was different and I am not thinking that for reasons of perspective.

I have moved away from writing the meta-fictional pieces for the moment.  While it was helpful for me, and I do think it provides an interesting approach, I think I was also getting a bit repetitive in terms of the kinds of stories that were resulting from it.  I still think it is an interesting and valuable tactic, but I felt the need to push myself in other directions for the moment.  I am still struggling, at times, to come up with story ideas, and it is easy for me to just write about my characters not wanting to cooperate, for example, or there being annoyed with me for not writing them a more interesting story, or some other variation on this general concept, and while that can be interesting and a bit different, I also realized that I was kind of getting stuck with writing stories built on the same sorts of idea again and again.

Neighborhood Inhabitants There was a fox once, and another time, otters, and now a peacock that we think got lost during one of the storms. She stays down on the other end of the street, though, does not visit us. We have a racoon family that stays in our tree some nights, and there is a baby lizard, a brown basilisk, who we have seen several times. It is not supposed to be here, is invasive and troublesome to the local ecosystem, as are the duck.  I hear there are giant snails now who eat stucco or concrete or something of that sort. I have not seen one, though, I just heard they are here and big as my fist.

It is the anniversary of the day when Melissa and I adopted our cat Ulysses back in 2015.  We drove all the way up to Georgia to a shelter that was being run out of some woman's house because they had a litter of Siberian kittens they had rescued.  My mom is allergic to cats, but Siberians don't trigger her reaction (my brother's cat was a Siberian and mom never had a reaction even when that cat was living in her home).  It is funny, but the effort we took driving to get Ulysses is kind of symbolic of how difficult it was caring for him, in some ways, as had some severe medical issues that required a lot of attention.  We gave him special medicine several times a day, even getting up in the middle of the night and early in the morning, and we were glad to do it for him.  He died in 2019, literally a week before what we had been told was his birthday.  I know that some folks would find it strange or at least extreme that I am still mourning a cat after so many years.  Maybe

What remains now is what we hold and that is too much and not enough in the worst ways, in only those ways sometimes, though it was good, was the best thing, was what we have done, the best thing we did, the right thing, the good thing. It is not alright now, has not been.  It can't be, not really, not again. That is the truth. I know we are surviving and healing, I think, too, but it is not different. The change is permanent. There is not a way. It is a loss.  Always, we have a loss there. It will remain with us. Is that a good thing even as it hurts?