So, we did have an IM conversation. Friday. And it was messier (shocking! I know!) than what I imagined. Having, after all, some boundaries about what I post on the internet, I won't go into detail, except that it was one of the most bittersweet, cathartic conversations I've ever been in.

He did say he was sorry. And I said it was ok. And meant it.

This morning the four of us went for a walk in the sun. My brother-in-law came over to borrow a saw, and at the same time a friend called needing me to drive her to the hospital (she cut her hand). There was logistical shifting and asking for help in various directions, and we did what we needed to do and later went for a walk to the park and ran into a family from Ingrid's day care. A big bunch of friends came for dinner.

All winter we clung together, the four of us, tangled in this sticky little life, not looking out, not seeing who else we could touch. And now the doors are open again and we are inhaling. Lending and borrowing and helping again. No longer hunkered down. It's good.

And it's good—if unnerving—to remember that I can still reach people way out there on the periphery—old loves, old friends. People who from so far away can still make my world tremble just a little.

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