The past is another country. It wasn't one I visited often, and I used to think that those who lived in it had something amiss with them. Why live in the past when there is a wonderful present? But now there is something amiss with me and the past is where I prefer to be. It increasingly takes up my thoughts, not just because I'm writing this, but because I don't want to be in the present. It's an awful thing not to want to be in the present. It's not even as if there aren't many good things in my life now, because there are, but unfortunately all of that is overshaddowed by the past; not the old precious past, but the more recent grief-filled past. And I feel guilty that I can't be happy in the present because I do have much to be happy about, and my daughters are very precious to me and I worry that they may think that they aren't enough for me. They are, but not having their father and brother around is so painful that it spills over into every other aspect of my life.