The next years will bring more depressing discoveries, I am sure. More moments of fear; more wrestling matches with my mean brain. The familiar field of my body will be a source of anxiety as wrinkles change the shape of my face, new aches arise, and I find lumps in unexpected places.

When judging character, I place a lot of weight on how someone interacts with children, even when I’m not pregnant. He passed the test. It wasn’t long until things progressed—and fast. He moved in before the baby was born. Twenty-three years later, he’s still here.

I navigate through the world each day by locating others' perceived problems and calculating what I can do to fix them. Rarely does anyone ask me to intervene in their (non-)problems. It's an instinct as ingrained in me as the urge to hold your breath when you plunge into the ocean. Often, I'm not even helpful.

In my dreams, you are still flying across the face of the sun.