In the eighth year the letters continued.
They were part of the rhythm now, the way the coast visits were part of the rhythm and the Sunday dinners were part of the rhythm. Sara forwarded them when they came and I read them and answered the ones that could be answered and carried the ones that were simply true and needed to be held for a while.
A woman in Lagos wrote about the word doorway, how she had needed a doorway in her understanding before she could make any movement at all.
A man in Oslo wrote about his father and the specific difficulty of loving someone who had not known how to love well.
A student in Seoul, a different one from the original Seoul letter, wrote about her grandmother who had read the book and had said, at ninety-two, that she wished she had read it at twenty-t
