I kept this in a notebook I did not show anyone at the time. Publishing it now because the note is the only thing about those eleven days I trust.
Day 1. Sent. Walked to the tram and cried for no announced reason, which I have now done twice this week.
Day 3. Checked the letter in my head for the fourth time. I wrote if you are willing three times. I now think a person reads if you are willing as she does not expect me to say yes, and then does not reply.
Day 5. Nothing. Decided to be reasonable: the post, the office, a clerk, a summer. Reasonableness helps for about an hour.
Day 7. Dreamt the house had a door I had not used. Woke up certain it was a memory and equally certain dreams are not evidence. Both things were true that morning.
Day 9. Told my partner I wanted to withdraw the letter. She said, in effect, that this is a normal impulse and it is not a plan.
Day 11. Phone. A man I had never heard. The first thing he said was a name, not a greeting.
Nothing about the waiting is an administrative gap. That is the sentence I would hand to anyone standing where I was standing in March.
What helped: deciding in advance what one contact is for. I wanted one phone number and one photograph. I got both, and I did not have to be brave about the rest in week two. There is a therapist in this directory who keeps free sessions for exactly this window; I used two of them and I am telling you because telling you is how the resource survives.