Come Back, Jack!

How is it possible to lose something you had in your hand only 24 hours ago when it has no legs and cannot walk away?

I have been reading and re-reading and re-re-reading the same Jack Reacher novel since before Tom died. That was January 24, 2009, in case you've lost track of the time sequencing.

For weeks after he passed I would bring the book with me to my tub - I'm a tub reader - basically, all my books are completely water-soaked and have expanded over time to twice their normal volume??

I would ease slowly into the super-heated water, lay my head against the shell-shaped plastic pillow, and open the book, again, to the same exact page. I'd read a couple paragraphs and realize I had simply not absorbed enough to warrant turning the page.

And so I'd start again from the top.

This went on for quite awhile and yet I never once considered abandoning the book and moving on to another.

Over time I started to move forward again and when I flew to Detroit for my stint with the grands I polished off 80-90 pages between naps. I've read a few pages every night I've been in Berkley too. Until tonight. Tonight the book is gone; it has disappeared.

I asked Gret and Reece about it. They had no idea at all what I was even referring to let alone any concept of where the book might be. Still, they helped me look. We searched the playroom first since that's where I'm sleeping and where the book was last night. They asked about the title and I couldn't tell them?!?? Not that it mattered, the book simply wasn't where it ought to have been.

We combed through every room of the house. It's not here.

Is this simple absentmindedness or a message from beyond?

Is it time to move on?

Should I, once and for all, let Jack go? He'll get the bad guys with or without me; he always does. Maybe a better book is waiting for me and my hanging onto the old one is holding me as well as him back....

The answer's in my heart: nope. It's not time yet to let him go. He's mine and I'm his till this dance is done.

I'm going to start again at the beginning; he simply can't be gone.