2001-11-16 - 3:28 p.m.

I was so looking forward to meeting her, for a couple of reasons. First, that I have loved her journal forever, and her views on raising her daughter just blow me away. And also, because I knew she was going through the breakup of her marriage, and I know how important it is to have someone who understands to talk to. Mostly, I wanted to hug her to death, and then go to the bar and bitch slap Him. Which, of course, I didn't do.

Anyway, we met at the bar, and as I mentioned yesterday, I was really unprepared for how very strong she is. I don't want to talk too much about the details, as it is her story to tell. But I LOVED her, I felt like I had known her forever, and we talked so easily, with things spilling out and over each other. She is an amazing woman, and the story of the things she's overcome literally left me speechless. I tried, feebly, to explain to her how amazing her story is, to tell her how proud she should be of herself for all that she's accomplished. Damn. I heard her talk about raising a child alone, working two jobs and still going to school, and more recently quitting a job that stifled her for something that makes her happy. To be honest, I felt like a big slacker compared to her - sitting home navel gazing, while this woman was out there moving forward. I wish she lived here, wish we could finish telling our stories.

We had a great dinner, and talked the whole time, with barely a breath, and she talked openly about how she was feeling. And when she left I gave her a big hug, and invited her to bring Sarah, maybe when the weather gets warm again, to New York to visit me. And I hope she does. (Jen - Central Park, the Bronx Zoo, Eloise at the Plaza, and FAO Schwartz for Sarah, and poetry slams and coffee houses and bookstores for us! It'll be fun, I swear!)

In the morning, though, I started to worry about it a little. I worried that I had talked a little too much, pushed too hard. I really meant to just listen, to be there for her to vent. But I so wanted her to know I heard her, I wanted to somehow let her know that she wasn't alone, that she WOULD get through this, that all the spinning, sickening, blinding pain is normal and okay and it will get better. And I also wanted to be honest, and tell her that it doesn't go away completely. It never does, like any other tragedy in life. You just learn to live with it. No other choice.

Anyway, in trying to get that across to her I was afraid that I might have been rambling on too much. I felt like I've known her forever, though, and I couldn't stop myself. And then I read her entry, and I cried myself. I'm glad she understood, I'm glad her heart heard what I was really saying.

And. Here's the thing. I could see, clearly, that she'll be fine. I've been where she is, and I know that it seems like she'll never come out on the other side. But I already see her on the other side. And there is no way, I know, to let her see that. But she is a strong, resilient woman, with an amazing will. I can envision the person she will be when this is all over, I can somehow feel how she will process this and move on. That being sad and heartsick and feeling crazy doesn't make you weak. In the end, it makes you strong. No way around that grief, only through.

She wrote in her entry from last night that she hopes that when she comes through this she'll be half as strong as I am - and I just want to tell her that she already is - already just as strong and beautiful as anyone can be.

So Jen - you call me if you need me, and don't confuse life lessons with personal failure - they're not the same thing at all.

I loved meeting you, and can't wait to hang out with you again.

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