A few months ago, I did the math. Quietly. The kind of math nobody wants to do. The kind where birthdays become probabilities instead of plans. June 28 sat out there somewhere in the distance, and honestly, I wasn't sure I'd make it. Yet here we are. Twenty days away. Close enough to see. Close enough to imagine. Close enough to start thinking about cake. Who am I kidding….churros. The last week has been one of the strangest of my life. Beautiful. Awful. Heartbreaking. Humbling. Exhausting. Hopeful. The kind of week that removes any remaining illusion about who people are. Some doors closed. Some should have. Some people left. Some needed to. And then there were the others. The ones who showed up. Again. And again. And again. Offering help. A room. A phone call. A Marriott point. A credit card point. A message. A prayer. A joke. A reminder that I am not carrying this alone. The funny thing about difficult times is they reveal invisible architecture. The people quietly holding things together. The kitchen lights. The casseroles. The brothers. The friends. The strangers who decide not to stay strangers. The people who save you are rarely the loudest. I have spent a lot of time lately thinking about bonus moons. The extra ones. The ones nobody ordered. The ones that show up anyway. I got eight months of bonus moon. Maybe more. Maybe less. Either way, I intend to stand in every drop of it. Because somewhere between the math, the poems, the salty stamps, the kindness, the chaos, the losses, and the miracles, I remembered something. I am still here. June anyway. And that feels like a gift. Thank you for helping me get this far. Let's see what happens next.