Dear Lucy,

As I was walking Lucy tonight I was listening to James Taylor’s Greatest Hits and came on the song, Something in the Way She Moves.
The bridge of the song goes:

Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning, and I find myself
careening in places where I should not let me go. She has the power to go where
no one else can find me and to silently remind me of the happiness and good
times that I know.

That has been me this last year and I haven’t had Anne to go to that place and pull me out. It is a place that friends, siblings, even one’s own mother can’t find; it is the place reserved for one’s self and the life partner. That’s what makes it irreplaceable. What makes the survivor so lost and alone and helpless feeling and inconsolable. No one else knows where that consolable place is.
We are the few who have this or have had this person in our lives. We are like a club, not based on looks or breeding or education or cleverness, or on what god we believe in or if we don’t believe in any. I think we are in a club called damned lucky and immensly blessed.
--Kathy