So I guess you could say, in this primitive way of looking at things, that Chris got his airplane ticket after all. This time he's little girl named Nell and our life is back in perspective again. The hole in the pattern is being mended. A thousand memories of Chris will always be at hand, of course, but not a destructive clinging to some material entity that can never be here again. We're in Sweden now, the home of my mother's ancestors, and I'm working on a second book which is a sequel to this one.
Nell teaches aspects of parenthood never understood before. If she cries or makes a mess or decides to be contrary (and these are relatively rare), it doesn't bother. There is always Chris's silence to compare it to. What is seen now so much more clearly is that although the names keep changing and the bodies keep changing, the larger pattern that holds us all together goes on and on. In terms of this larger pattern the lines at the end of this book still stand. We have won it. Things are better now. You can sort of tell these things.
ooolo99ikl;i.,pyknulmmmmmmmmmm 111 (This last line is by Nell. She reached around the corner of the machine and banged on the keys and then watched with the same gleam Chris used to have. If the editors preserve it, it will be her first published work.)
*Robert M. Pirsig Gothenburg, Sweden, 1984