Let's get down to cases. As I write, seven days hence, this house - which WAW wanted, which WAW picked out, which WAW decorated - will have no WAW. I have every reason to expect that she will learn to cope with the changes to come, that she'll learn to manage these kids, that she'll remember to go to the supermarket (the other day WAW said, only half-jokingly, "I'll never have any fresh food again without you"), and that she'll experience pain and pleasure, grief and joy, sadness and laughter, frustration and anticipation, loss and gain, fear and courage, despair and hope.
And I have every reason to expect that my telling her she's okizay, that it's not the End Times, and that she can call on me to pitch in with some helping hands every now and again isn't about to change that. And I wouldn't want her to "cross the bridge" because she can't make it without me - I would want her to know that in fact she can make it without me but chooses not to.
But right now I'm quaffing the champagne of beers, and there's some French Onion dip surrounded by tasty chips - the kind with ridges - calling to me.
