Out of the blue, a friend emailed and offered to read the new collection manuscript. Strangely and wonderfully, this was also a friend to whom I'd dedicated the book, but she didn't know that, as I hadn't told any of the dedicatees yet. They are three couples and my dead best friend from college--all of them deeply beloved by the four members of my family, all of them prominent in helping to bring up our children, in loving us both as a unit and separately, welcoming us so easily into their homes, so generously, that their hearths have, over time, become a version of ours.

It is hard to raise children. It is hard to make art. It is hard to be a partner and to support a partner. It is hard to earn a living and to keep the stove going so that the house doesn't freeze. The people in your life who stretch out a hand, year after year, decade after decade, maybe even after death . . . well, they are a miracle.