There is only San Francisco, because there is no Gabriel. And I don't want to be one of those crazy dead baby mum's. I worry I make too much out of it already, I talk about him too much as it is. I worry that my friends, my neighbours, my colleagues, they are telling themselves that I am not quite right since his death, that I am touched in the head, on the long, slow decline. But, I wish I could make you understand:
There is only San Francisco, and I am only one of those lucky people who has "all this money", because I didn't chose to be a DINK, I wanted my son. I went back to work because I had to keep living even though at times it seemed less painful to stop.
There is only San Francisco, and I have all this spare time and I can only phone a friend and say "Let's go" because no one needs me to tell them a story or change their diaper.
There is only San Francisco because when I went to bed tonight, it was with no boy child to crawl in and give cuddles, no boy child to nurse. There are only ugly sobs, tears down my face. There is only me sitting with his scrap book, tracing the outline of his feet, running my hands over them while I sob, and your words in my ears.
There is only San Francisco because I make a choice, even though my sorrow and grief overwhelms me this exact instant. I chose joy. I chose to enjoy. I chose to keep living. And I will chose to enjoy myself in San Francisco.
And when you tell me that I am lucky, and that you wish you were me, forgive me, but I do not think so.
For me, there is only San Francisco.
And on the balance, I do not think you would chose that.