Cat Fish. Not the food, but the person.

Morning is the hardest time for me. I wake up with an acute pain in my chest, a deep sense of loss that can only come from losing something that was once so precious and beautiful. But along with that pain, I also wake up to messages, texts and emails that say things like this:

"For some reason, I feel more personally connected to you than we are in reality. It's as if I can feel a distant echo of what you're feeling—quieter, softer, but still deeply painful. Maybe that sounds crazy, but it doesn't feel crazy. It feels perfectly natural and logical that I feel my chest tighten painfully in reaction to discovering what has happened to you. I don't know the whole story, but I know how much you loved him. And my only response to that is a long, warm hug, which I can't give you. So please accept this email as a very insufficient version of a hug."

And I realize that there are more people who care for me and want the best for me than I ever could have dreamt of. I realize, I realize, I realize that love is everywhere.  That compassion is everywhere. And it's a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Thank you, to everyone who has sent me words or thoughts or funny pictures of encouragement. It means so much more to me than I could possibly express (and I'm pretty articulate, remember?).