July 9, 2019
He’s 7 today, dear journal – the journal that only exists because 10 days before *he* was born, I was suffering a bout of insomnia and felt compelled to write, and then kept writing, and then emboldened both by the writing and the perseverance that had been required to have a baby at my advanced age (!), I went to grad school (long-deferred dream), began writing and publishing essays, began teaching, BEGAN LIVING.
BEGAN -- again.
Seven years old, the boy who has completely changed my life. Long have I known of my weakness for men – I just didn’t know it would be a boy over whom I would completely lose my mind, a boy who would conspire to soften every rough edge I have (mind you, he’s still working on that one, bless his heart). A boy who would help me exit that dark wood I had strayed into, to crib a line from Dante. I lurve this boy, I lurf him.
Sure, I am hyperbole personified but I am comfortable saying he saved my life.
Even if it were hyperbole, what of it? If I believe he SAVED my life,
that life is SAVED, regardless. I think of the Van Morrison song, “I Forgot
that Love Existed.” That’s how his presence in my life feels. And it’s seven
years of feeling this way.
Lost Diary Entry
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