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Today is 2 years since Michael’s seizure. I wrote about this last week, but I’ve been wondering why this was such a harder knock than his death.

It’s because life changed that day and would never be the same.

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“Now you will think of days past when you had her. When you are used to this horrible thing that they will forever be cast into the past, then you will gently feel her revive, returning to take her place, her entire place, beside you. At the present time, this is not yet possible. Let yourself be inert, wait till the incomprehensible power…that has broken you, restores you a little. I say a little, for henceforth you will always keep something broken about you. Tell yourself this, too, for it is a kind of pleasure to know that you will never love less, that you will never be consoled, that you will constantly remember more and more.”

~ Letter from Proust to Georges de Lauris whose mother had just died.
(reprinted in the Sept 13th issue of The New Yorker in a story about Roland Barthes)
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I’ve always heard that people who have suffered through a traumatic event or lost a loved one defined time as before and after the event.

I’m not sure how everywhere else around the country has changed before and after September 11, 2001 other than airport security but here in New York the changes have been remarkable (as you can imagine).
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