It has now been a little more than two years since I walked out of my office that sunny day in the cruelest month. It’s sunny again, and the tulips are blooming; I can see them from my front porch. I am sitting in my pajamas with my laptop, working on a manuscript. In a few hours, I will go pick up my children from school. Later, I will go running. And the memory of that life-altering day, the day I knew that my life was about to change, has faded to the pale white of a scar, marks left by a leech upon the calf, after it has been pried off and discarded for good.