The title of my book is And Life Comes Back.
It gets tossed around under other titles and word groupings right now, as we are all learning her name, as we are all waiting for her debut.
“What’s it called? Life Goes On? Life Happens? Life Comes Back?”
But she has a name, and it’s important. Especially that first word: And.
‘And’ is an easy word to forget, because it doesn’t seem very important in the context of a whole vocabulary. It’s easy to lop it right off, thinking it’s an extra syllable.
But actually, ‘And’ says, This isn’t the beginning of the sentence. Something happened before this, and it matters too.
He was in my life for twelve years. He made great stroganoff, and he had a perfect algorithm for baking and serving Nestle Tollhouse Pull-Apart Cookies to their optimal prime. He made me laugh. He loved me well. We have two sons. He died in my arms. And Life Comes Back.
I lived through two years of hell, two years of winter. And Life Comes Back.
I’ve fought depression that can’t be described. And Life Comes Back.
I’ve been through the deepest valley. And Life Comes Back.
When you start reading the book, you’re not at the begining of the story. That’s not where it all began. That’s not where I started. But a whole lot happened that’s just too hard to talk about, write about, and you really actually don’t want to know the truth of it. And Life Comes Back.
So, please, I speak not as an author, a grammarian, a fanatic, or a wordsmith, but as the girl who’s living the story.
Please remember that first word.