day, more than any other, I fancied myself a r?nin; a solitary soldier in service to a ghostly lion prince. I wandered the inside of my apartment absently abandoning cups of tea and plates of food, my phone alerting me all the while as the texts and emails came in commemorating the day. I went out and paid someone for another cup of tea, drove myself to an appointment at a spa -- which seemed like a good idea at the time -- and I sat placidly through the various treatments and pampering. I can't say I felt any comfort, but it felt right. Afterward, I read a message from my dad and I sat in my car and wept. I forgot to breathe at one point. I'd held my breath without realizing it until I started to feel faint. Then I went shopping. I bought a few pretty things: a striped blouse, some sparkly earrings, and perfume that smelled, to me, like bright future (really like bay rum and orange blossoms). I drank a glass of wine. A friend took me out for diner food and a terrible movie. I went to sleep content. This was the first of Lev's birthdays where I wasn't terrified, where I wasn't paralyzed in some way by the looming end. The war was over. We'd been beaten. On that day, my grief was prismatic. I could see in every direction -- all of the things that had come before, each of the paths