Background Notes — Alone to Myself
Between getting back to work and caring for our baby and trying to sleep, I’ve not yet had time to start much anything with the notebooks and papers and recordings Sara entrusted to my care. But already I’ve seen enough to scare me. It’s almost as scary as Iggy: I want to do everything perfect for her. And I know I can’t.
For one thing, I realize that some of her draft essays were coming together into something more: she was envisioning a book. Even after reading so much to her and living with her excitement talking to me of her ideas, I don’t understand this well enough to do her the honor she deserves.
And as for her faith in me that I could write too, I feel even more inadequate. She wrote as easily as opening her eyes and letting them look, opening her mouth and letting it speak, reaching out her hand and letting it touch. Opening her heart and letting it love. Even without her memories from before, she re-learned everything she needed to know and was light years past anything I could ever hope to envision. I still have not yet written a single poem without a lot of help from her or from one of our friends. Alone to myself, I can’t write poetry, and I won’t be able to do hers justice.
I love her more than ever. But now I really am alone to myself.