Today I took Arnie to the pier to see if the mystery bed was still there. It was not, but there was a loaf of bread, a pair of fingerless mittens, and a moldy copy of 'Cold Mountain.' I keep wondering where the bed went...it has to be somehwere.

Then we went to airport to say goodbye.

Me: I'm sorry I cried last night.

Arnie: It's ok to cry. Now it's a tradition.

The saying goodbye part still has not gotten easier but the time it takes to bounce back has lessened with every trip. On days like these I want to go to bed early so I can wake up the next day with the parameters of this relationship back in place, fully defined, where questions that begin with 'what if' don't exist.