Grief. One would think that at some point it would be finished. Healed. Processed into wisdom. And yet, here I sit. Sobbing. He is off communing with a 30 year old, at 66. I can spiritualize that...he is recovering his passion, his muse. Should I not do the same? He is most certainly calling her "his angel" and tenderly caring about her thoughts and feelings. Afterall, it was I who left I, the fallen angel, the "psychotic b.", the one who left. I, who never let us run out of toilet paper, had dinner on the table every night, was the conduit for 2 beautiful children, and yes, I, who wanted a life of my own. Or at least to grow. Not by myself. I wanted 2 whole lives together-Not a half a life. To grow together would have been ideal, everything I ever dreamed of, but if not, how could I stop myself from becoming?