Such a small word for such a big heart.

He’s a lifeline to me.

A mirror that reflects me in a way that is far too generous.

He’s not close right now, but he is, he is.

He’s right here, safe in my thoughts, causing me to smile for a reason that to all the world is unapparent. He’s the quick press of ten digits away; at work his voice is serious, his hey is a statement to let me know there are people around for whom and to whom he is responsible; in the car he is singing Jason Robert Brown or Coldplay or Seal and sometimes I hear a few of those notes as he answers and now he is free and happy in his jeep with the wheels that are taller than our nieces and nephews and he says hey with the promise of laughter in his voice; when he is home he is laying down, before sleep or right after, with a great orange cat mingling the sounds of purring with the soft tones of his voice as he calls me baby because now we are alone.

Or as alone as we’re going to get with two phones and a fat cat purring noisily between us.

And I–

I am content.
I am not sure of a whole lot of things, but I think I have made a few good decisions concerning God and Drew and trying not to let my fear have the final word.

I think I have lucked into one of the best tribes on earth.
At least I’d think that if I believed in luck.

And though I find myself in all sorts of interesting places,
I can count on that tribe, my family and friends, to remind me of who I am.

And there is peace in all of this.
Lots of great gulps of laughter, too; but always, peace.