After a while of staring at the ceiling, I roll over and stare at the window across the room. It doesn't make me any more sleepy than the ceiling did,...so I close my eyes. If I lay very, very still and don't open my eyes, I can almost imagine your footsteps on the carpet, crossing the room. And if I concentrate hard enough (but not so hard that I break my suspension of belief), I can even feel you sliding into bed behind me. Your body is warm against mine, and I resist the urge to press back. We'll just have to wait and see.I'm not so mad anymore, I guess. That's one thing that's differentalready. I have to remember that, though, later on. Because the angercomes back and you can get mad at things that you've forgotten havealready been resolved.In the end, I guess the big lesson I learned is that it's not Marcia'sfault, or mom's fault. It's not my fault or even my birth mom's fault.It's not really anyone's fault. Accidents happen. We're all human. Buteven knowing that doesn't heal. More

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