I scanned the page of tweets, bleary-eyed and indifferent.

Relevant Magazine was linking to Obama’s Nobel acceptance speech.

Godgrrl was in California.

Donald Miller was in an interview.

Jimmy Fallon was answering to a feminist group.

I sighed and perked my ears to the white-noise-saturated room where Jude slept. Then I looked back to the Twitter page and something came over me. A strange loneliness and detachment. As I got reacquainted with my favorite Twitterers (is that a word?) in my first visit to the site in three months, I felt a little lost. The world had seemingly passed me by since Jude’s July birthday.

But somehow I didn’t mind so much. Because there’s something satisfying about pouring your life into someone so deeply that time and space and even tweets and twitters disappear for a while. It’s rare to be needed so greatly and, while those seasons are desperately challenging, they are also empowering and life-giving.

But as I closed my computer and went to check on Jude, there was also some small piece worth grieving. My life will never be the same again. And it’s not just the footloose-and-fancy-free-ness I’m grieving or the ability to simply get up and go whenever I want. There’s some element of Krista I can’t quite put my finger on that has had to die in order for me to love Jude. (Isn’t that what all true love requires of us…some death?)

But I can only grieve the lost piece for a moment. The second I put my hand on his chest, feeling his breath and his heart, I can’t say I miss it or even need to know what it is. Because whatever I’ve lost, whatever passes me by in all the days ahead, my love for Jude has exponentially filled.

And anyway, does it really matter if I know what Coldplay tweeted all summer?