I don’t remember when Julia Child died, but I know that I was never the same once she was gone. It’s funny like that…life. And remembering. And stories. And our humanity. Also, food. Sometimes.

Julia always meant everything to me. Everything. I call her Julia because I once made a loaf of bread or something from one of her cookbooks. “Baking the Julia Child’s Way” was the name of that book. I loved it dearly. And once you make someone’s bread recipe or whatever, it’s impossible not to feel connected. My hands moved in a dance across time over the same loaf, kneading our intense hopes and fears and anger. The loaf was our shared lover, our fingers writhing under the ropes of gluten that entangled our hearts and covered our wide-knuckled phalanges.

Since the age of seven, I've done a fantastic imitation of Julia Child’s voice. I know this because I first did my impression (a tribute, really) for my friend Amy. She was nine, so she knew from what. I think if you can imitate someone’s tone and patterns, you are essentially that person. It’s like a changeling situation or even a Single White Female thing and the voice is that high heeled shoe.

The last time I imitated Julia’s voice was this weekend when I was watching Julie and Julia. It was a movie. About Julia Child and some other person. I identify with everyone in the movie but especially Amanda Hesser who plays herself, and also Stanley Tucci, the person not the character he plays, and also Meryl Streep as both Meryl Streep and the character of Julia Child. I am all these people, really. I tell myself that as people, we develop these circles of overlapping needs and wants, and we hope we find someone that can look at our personal Venn diagram and say, “Your intersection matters. I understand who you are and what you want to be. I get your SmartArt.” I am the intersection of Amanda+Stanley+Meryl+Julia = me.

So when Julia Child died, whenever that was, I knew I died, too. It’s not that a small part of me died. But my Venn diagram was now missing something that probably mattered. And I do not have time to find a replacement object that can define me in a new way. I do not know Microsoft Word that well. It’s not so simple to do a find/replace across my life.

So I died. Proabably. It feels like I did. Or should have. And that makes me feel very alone.

I miss her.