Letters to the Past

Dear Amy 8 months ago,

Don't worry, and put away that knife you're fingering so thoughtfully. It's going to get better. I'm writing from the back patio. It's the end of summer, it's night, and there's a fire in the firepit and a bowl of ice cream on the table. The kids have been asleep for almost 2 hours, now, and if tonight is like most nights they're going to sleep for another 9. Yes, you heard me. They sleep. Soon I'll go inside and pick up my book and read for a while. That's right, I'm going to actually read a book. Then I'll go to bed without that feeling of panicky dread, and get up tomorrow and have fun playing with the babies before going to work. There is no snow on the ground. It is not eternally dark. The cicadas are whirring, the smoke is spiraling up towards the heavens, and the stars are out. So put down the bottle of Percoset and hang in there.

Love,
Amy