Happy.
Opening a blank document, I quickly typed:
How Did You Cope?
by Libby Walker
Then, I sat, hands poised, staring at the pristine expanse for another endless moment, knowing this was it—point of no return. Because the minute I started typing, it was the beginning, everything that had happened to this point…the past.
My fingers practically started on their own, slow at first, then gradually faster as the words flowed like it was something that had been restrained for the longest time and was anxious to break free.
How did you cope?
That was the entirety of a letter I received today. One of many, many thousands of letters full of sympathy and condolences and similar tales of loss, and to all of you who read my husband’s words and had them touch you to such an extent that you felt compelled to write, I thank you. But then there was this one simple e-mail, just that one question, not even a signature. And thing is, the answer was immediate. It was right there and I knew it, like I know my name and the feel of my dog’s fur against my bare feet and the beauty of a Florida Keys sunset. I knew it, because in the last several years—this last year, in particular—it’s grown to be as intrinsic a part of my nature as everything else I mentioned. And although it’s almost beautiful in its simplicity, it was a lesson that was painfully hard in the learning.
I know going in, this is going to sound unbelievably selfish, but I suspect that anyone who’s gone through this will understand. You see, the thing that became most important, that ultimately saved me, was finding a unique space for myself. Carving out a place for myself where the cancer didn’t exist, where things were normal, where I was simply Libby with no other identity or agenda.
I coped by finding a space where I could just…breathe.
Acknowledgments
This book has had such a remarkable journey that to acknowledge everyone who’s had a hand in bringing it to this stage would yield text almost as long as the book itself. So, in the interests of keeping it brief:
Thank you, first and foremost, to my most remarkable agent, Adrienne Rosado, who was always game for another go with this manuscript. She is also a fine whisky connoisseur and most excellent talker-off-ledges—all good things for an agent to be.
Thanks to my very patient editor, Randall Klein, who took this book and with his enthusiasm, made me see how it could be made even better.
To Sarah, Hannah, Brielle, and the rest of the team at Diversion—thank you, thank you, thank you, for helping to make this dream a reality.
To my WriterGirls, y’all are the bread to my butter. Love you beyond all redemption.
To my Facebook and Twitter families—you guys take a very isolating job and make me feel as if I work in the world’s most social office with the biggest water cooler ever.
To my family—Lewis, Nate, and Abby—you’re my everything. Never ever forget that.
Finally (and this may sound odd) I need to acknowledge singer Josh Groban. It was his interpretation of “Broken Vow” so very many years ago that planted the seeds for this story that would not let go. At all. For that I either owe him a huge debt of thanks or to shower endless curses upon his head. I settle for thanks.
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