Old & New

The following appeared in today's "Dear Abby". I copy it here because, to a number of people who knew me beforehand and now, it expressed better than I've ever been able to how I feel sometimes. Obviously the situation isn't the same, but the sentiment applies.

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Dear Abby,

My beautiful 20-year-old daughter was killed in a car accident. I am writing this not only for myself, but for all parents who have lost a child, and to all of the wonderful people who asked, "What can I do for you?"

At the time there wasn't much anyone could do to help, but after two years I have an answer: Accept me for who I am *now*.

When Rachel came into my life, it changed me profoundly. Losing her did the same. Her father and I work hard to honor her memory, but we will never "get over it" to the degree of being who we were before. I am different now in some ways - I think - better. I am kinder, more patient, more appreciative of small things, but I am not as outgoing nor as quick to laugh.

I know people mean well when they encourage me to get on with my life, but this *is* my life. My priorities have changed. My expectations of what my future will hold have changed. Please extend to me again the offer of "anything I can do" and, please, accept me as I am now.

-Different Now in Riverview, Fla.

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I didn't lose a child. I gained and lost a wife, and gained a child. I'm... Different, and recently I have been realizing I'm never going to be the Robin that people knew back in undergrad, back in grad school. My ambitions are different. My motivations are different. My fears are different. I think differently, and I react differently. Some changes are negative, and some are positive - I can see that clearly. But they're there.

The funny thing is, I have had people say that to me - that it's okay, that I'll get over it, that everything will be back the way it was. It won't. My life is different, irretrievably so. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, or a good thing; it's just a fact. Things will be okay. Things will get better. But I *won't* be over it. It's not something to be removed from my life; it's something that's part of my life, and always will be. I can run away from my past, or I can include it in my future, but I can't get rid of it either way.

It's been a year since my divorce, three and a quarter years since my separation, and longer than that since things fell apart. You may not like who I am now, but...

This *is* who I am, now. And I'll keep on changing, just like everyone else... But I'll never be the person I was ten years ago.