Now We Are One

Memory -- or, mine anyway -- is a sentimental creature. A dramatic and fickle one, too. It doesn't always work. When it does, it almost never just replays it like it really was. (I mean, really, when was the last time you remembered an ordinary day?) Which is why, in part, I've been writing this blog all year. I didn't trust myself to remember much with any degree of accuracy if I didn't write it down as it happened. And yet, after all the words, there remains a simple feeling: this day last year was the best day of my life.

As Rachel just said in an email to me: "With all the good and bad and constant flow of achingly poignant moments, I can't remember who I was or what I was doing without them [her 2 boys]."

Me neither. And here's to it.