I’m at a place where the monsters of my youth are fading. They can no longer walk or talk and somehow we are all returning to children. As I stood with my toes buried in the sand on a cold morning, I watched the marine layer swirl and pelicans glide low along the water looking for breakfast. I was processing. Someone who was cruel in my younger life is ill. I remember when we met. She was loud and bubbly and always wore her hair in little pig tales even though she was 39.