The Impossibility of It All

I met my wife nine years ago yesterday. I always expect these little anniversaries to hit me like a ton of bricks, but they always come and make me numb. Numb is good. Numb is putting one foot in front of the other, in succession, until you get somewhere. Not-numb is standing with your feet side-by-side and wondering which foot should go first.

It's hard for me to believe that the totality of my experience of Wendy was less than a decade. She gave me so much of a future. I was counting on us growing old together. I used to tell her that when her hair went white, I would want her to grow it out long. I would have a long white beard.

And there goes away the numbness. On a good day, it's a border I can cross easily back and forth. I can always move myself into sadness, but I often get delayed there, waiting for my return visa.