I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark.

She looks up at me, still rocking. “Henry . . . why did me decide to do this again?” “Supposedly when it’s over they hand you a baby and let you keep it.” “Oh yeah.” --Wednesday, September 5, 2001

I think about my mother singing after lunch on a Summer afternoon, twirling in blue dress across the floor of her dressing room

It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.

I feel that I an everything to her.

Long ago, men went to sea, and women waited for them, standing on the edge of the water, scanning the horizon for the tiny ship. Now I wait for Henry. He vanishes unwillingly, without warning. I wait for him. Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting. Why has he gone where I cannot follow?

When it's over you look up: the world looks the same but you are somehow different and that feeling lingers for days.