It’s Saturday, November 3rd – exactly one month ago. I’ve planned this trip for days. Should I visit this weekend or should we meet next weekend – somewhere halfway between us? We go back and forth. My youngest daughter gets sick and I stay home from work on Thursday. I guess its going to be the weekend after. K is disappointed. She’s at her wit’s end. Her son is driving her crazy. She calls Saturday morning and leaves a voice mail.

“hi, so … this day is so ridiculous and I want you here so badly … and I can totally wait till next Friday, which probably makes more sense for everyone involved, but my needs are so extraordinary that I want to tell you to come. It would be fun and it would be great, but we would have to stay at my parent’s house because it’s to hectic otherwise because I have to let the dogs out at six in the morning and their house is so dirty and smells like dog and … I haven’t seen you in so long and I just feel raw and I want to see you and I want to love you and … “

An hour later I’m on the road heading west. By noon I’m pulling up to her house. This will be my third trip to visit her.

And three … is a magic number.