I keep thinking of this piece, Leap, by Brian Doyle. And of his premise -- our premise, right? -- that we doggedly persist in the face of cowardice by knowing and telling and breathing our loved ones' stories. Our stories.
Of course it's too soon to know what this thing means, or how we'll look back on it, or what should have been clear. What there is now, as near as I can tell, is confusion, compassion, and some pretty incredible stories of grace under duress, including some from my friends, who were there. Also little declarations of stubborn solidarity from New Yorkers, bless them. I don't know how to deal with loss. I don't know what to say to those coping with loss right now. But we can tell stories.
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