Mid-October, my blog writing winked out. That’s when my dearest friend returned to the hospital, her once-stable blood count a barely detectible blip on the usual charts. She was holed up in the Long Branch hospital as Hurricane Sandy pounded the eastern seaboard. Eventually, they sent her home, the diagnosis not good. For a few weeks, she was allowed to run free—apparently just long enough to put some affairs in order. In December, the news broke that her cancer, held at bay for 11 years, had returned. With her usual optimism, we planned a trip to Paris. But in January, she returned to the hospital and never left—at least not until her soul sprang from her body with a joyful howl on February 5. Now she dances among the stars.
Facing each day without my soul sister has been excruciating. She was my first crit partner and my constant muse. Not a day began without me saying “good morning sunshine” and not a night would end without a “good night dear” from her. I confess, I still occasionally message her, hoping that by sending the charged particles through the aether, she will still hear them.
If mysterious edits suddenly appear as I’m working, I’ll know there really are ghosts in the machine. I’m listening through keyholes, Winter. Feel free to keep right on guiding me. Oh, and save me a place in the nebula with a seat next to you. I’ll bring the widget.