Dear Sara, It's been two years, two months, and approximately seven days since we first heard the news. We weren't best friends, or even particularly close friends. What I do know though, is that being on an online platform--where a few lines of html, SQL scripts, and code, become a diary, and a way out--creates a space where strangers know more about us than the people in our lives. If you were still here today, if you could still hug your son, or speak to your husband, I would tell you that in this space many of us have created for ourselves, there will come a time when we can slowly go through each post. And with each post, we will find a piece of ourselves that we have lost, or one that we have yet to find. From those short lines, or that one verbose, sordid post where we laid bare our souls, we will look at it, and think, "I cannot believe I made it this far." Then, in time to come, we will even say that we can not fathom how we moved from the world where pain, and darkness were everything, to one where we understood that they are only a fraction of what we could feel. Since I've last known you, and read your words, I've lost my own words, but lately, things that remind me of you, have been showing up in my life. So, I thought I would wrestle with my word loss for a few minutes, to say that I wish you had made it into this year. I wish you were still here to realise how many miles you'd travelled in this journey, and how much of that journey would slowly become something you once hoped for. No, I will not, and I would not have said that the journey would get easier, or that it would fail to hold its power over you, but I would have said, that you did have the strength to move through it. Sometimes, it is a matter of making it through every second, and then every minute, and finally every hour, until the days begin to move at a regular pace again. I don't know why I chose to address this post to you, or why, when I first heard of your death, I chose to address that post to you--for my beliefs teach me that death is a sweet sleep, one in which you feel and know nothing until the time to wake has come again. Yet, I do not think that this post could have been complete without me writing it to you--for it is yours. There were many things that influenced your choice, and we will never really know which one was the straw that broke the camel's back. What we do know, those of us that cared about you, is that at each step of the way, you fought it all tooth and nail, and to those that secretly called you a coward for your choice, I hope in time they put away the shell that covers their hearts, and take time to understand. Understanding is what saves lives. Companionship is what keeps those of us who are drifting, grounded. Not big gestures. Not fancy words. Just knowing that there is one person who we can talk to without talking, that will grasp at least a minute amount of the whirlpool that swirls within us. True, it cannot stop everything, for the final decision rests with us, but often, a bit of flotsam floating nearby, is all that's needed to keep our heads above water. To you, and the many parts that were a part of you, From the unfragmented, but many parts that are a part of me. Yours truly, The Honorary Member of the Sugar Clouds Club. To laughter, and Cotton Candy.