I am (almost) glad that you died when I was thirteen years old. Last night John and I watched the movie "Everybody's Fine" where parenthood and life can go wrong and painful. Afterwards I went up to Libby's bedroom where she was finally asleep, and I lifted her up in to my arms, onto my lap and I held her and rocked her and cried into her soft, sweet neck. Then I did the same with Portia. Neither of them woke up, They slept the deep sleep of little girls and good living. I thought of you.