A year is like a day: Remembering Christchurch.

A year ago I was in an “earthquake situation.”

I’m not sure what people can tell me.

Because I’m not sure what I can tell them.

Bless us all for trying.

Sitting still.

I made strange choices. Better choices, I guess.

So I missed it. Kind of.

But what did I have to do with it, anyway?

What difference does it make?

“Answers” add debris.

I don’t want someone to look out for me and no one else.

This week, I cried, and scanned the room for exit signs.

I can’t forget that dreadful roar, sometimes.

One night, I slid down the ice in the dark.

“Damned if I won’t go sledding!” I told a friend.

80 years isn’t much more than 28.

Yesterday, the anniversary, I was sincere, and unsure.

A little bit limited by words.

Everyone seems closer.

As they have always been.