It’s time… It’s time to talk about it. It’s time to talk about it here. Because I miss coming here. I miss this stupid little Internet space. And in total selfishness I want my life back.

Two months and 17 days ago, my father committed suicide. There are a lot of delicate ways to say it, but the hard truth is that he chose to end his life. I won’t ask you to understand why I haven’t mentioned our tragedy here, or maybe at all to those of you I know peripherally, but only that you’ll understand that I couldn’t. Seventy-seven days have gone by - inched along and, simultaneously, eclipsed minutes, hours and seconds as I once knew them - and now I feel I am finally able to sense some remnants of my former self… she isn’t quite as I once knew her, but there are glimpses that tell me she isn’t lost entirely. I would imagine my mother and sisters feel the same. Like who you were before and who you are now, living in “the new normal,” must be something akin to having fond memories of an old childhood friend, long moved on from youth, whose middle name or favorite ice cream you will probably never forget, even when you’re both wrinkled and slow and hard of hearing.

Thank you for being patient. I don’t know much of anything to be certain these days, but I am confident of one thing: I will keep writing. I must. And I should. I will keep coming here, as I am able. I won’t be so naive as to promise that it will be with any regularity. Or that I will be able to form coherent words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs. Or that you’ll like it. Or that it will entertain you. But I’ll keep coming back, and if you’d like to, I’d be glad to have you back, too.

Sincerely,

Sally B.