It's been exactly a month today. Why is it that I measure time by tragedy? Maybe it's human nature...

I realized this morning that I broke up with Hal on Paul's half birthday. Odd. He still lives on in my heart, I guess. 

There is a public service announcement that I saw last night. It starts out by saying "This is a real 911 call." Then you hear some guy in a really slurred voice say that he and his wife were lost in a blizzard. Cut to black. "They were both high on meth." You hear him say that this is his last hope, and the operator says, "I'm sorry." Cut to black again, "They were both found frozen to death the next morning." It made me cry. Not because their story is sad, and I'm not saying it isn't but because I heard Cameron's voice calling 911 on that fateful March day. I saw the ambulance pull into the parking lot, saw Paul on the stretcher, saw the ambulance people close the doors and drive off. I heard the sirens blaring. I saw his dad's dust red pickup truck, saw his dad sitting on the front step, face in hands, crying, and realized that I was crying too. Drugs destroy.