It takes a few seconds for me to realize that they are acting out my life. That they, spies in our house for three weeks, have been preparing to make a public mockery of my story, of my most private pain.

Before I can turn to Gary and say Let’s leave, the room explodes in applause. I feel people’s eyes on me, on the sling, on Charlotte, on Gary; it’s clear to everyone who the People Puppets modeled their closing act on—me, standing there, wearing a dog. I’m so embarrassed I can barely breathe.

I wish the floor would open up or that I could disappear into the crowd the way Teddy did a few weeks ago when I came to talk about my writing, but for once the ground I’m standing on feels solid and real. It is not going anywhere, and neither am I. I glance at Gary, expecting to read shame on his face, too, but his eyes are soft, and full of love and understanding and compassion. “I’m sorry,” he mouths, and we lean against each other, holding each other up, I realize, the way we always do, while everyone turns back to the stage. Then all the People Puppets and all the children, the little ones and the big ones, including Mr. Noah, who looks like one of them, return to take a noisy group bow. Nick puts his arm around Mr. Noah and hugs him, and then Phoebe, still dressed as a dog, hugs Nick. Grace finds them and joins the hug. Nick searches the crowd of onstage sheep-kids to find Teddy, and suddenly he is next to him, absorbed into the hug, too. Nick starts to cry, his body shaking in its giant white sheet: his father’s brain is dying, and all he can do is weep and let himself be held together by love.

I reach for Gary’s hand and hold it. Our eyes lock. I feel all the available light—all the life—all the tiny shards of joy and sadness and grief and love—flow through me, the chimera of the past finally giving way to the reality of the present: we are who we are; we are doing our best; it will all work out. It is a choice—to accept, to believe, to remain—and I am choosing all of it now. It’s then that my phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m certain it’s Daisy, calling to tell me that Glenn has left us, that the world as we’ve known it is gone again. But I’m not ready to leave it yet. I stay, where we are right now, in this place, in this moment, for as long as I can.

Thanksgiving

After we bury Glenn and bring Lucy home to live with us, we decide, as a way to distract ourselves from our sadness, to host Thanksgiving. Since we have no friends anymore, except Nick and Phoebe, I go out on a ridiculous limb and invite Michael Wasserman and David Levy and their three kids. I’m shocked that they say yes to such an unexpected and last-minute invitation, and when they do it feels like the only possible happy ending to the past few months, if not years: full circle from destruction to reconstruction, from never socializing to hosting a crowded table, with Mr. Noah and Grace, with new friends and puppet friends, and Teddy the center of attention for all the younger kids. What could be more hopeful than that?