It is a loss, even though it is not a bereavement. It is not sadness inflicted by events, breaking asunder and stealing happiness. It is a loss of hopes cherished at the threshold of adulthood, but now unfulfilled; a growing into the reality of what it had spiralled to become; not our best and our flourishing, but smallness and depletion. How did we get there, from starting at such a seeming good place? A thousand tiny steps, and more, unchecked. Cast to sea, floating ever further apart. Reconciling in oneself what was good, with what was not - is hard to do, a journey of its own, that is long and lonely. Yet, and yet, it has been the journey into life - yours I hope, and mine I know.