Dear Diary,

It was Czeslaw Milosz who said, "A Year After Your Death…."

365 days ago, professionally (though you be hard pressed to know it in my family. Read on) I was a highly respected Seattle psychiatrist with a long list of clients.

365 days ago, I was the youngest son of Martin and the late Hester Crane, always striving to make them, and now just him, proud of me like they, he, is of Frasier (see below). To have his friends at McGunity's recognize me for once and say, as they do to Frasier, "your Dad talks about you all the time". Or "you should hear how your Dad talks about you, he is so proud of you…" (I think you have seen enough of this picture, so, moving on...)

365 days ago, I was the highly competitive, younger brother of the renowned KACL radio psychiatrist and living in the constant shadow of Frasier Crane (see above).

365 days ago, I received a cast iron dragon from Roz Doyle, (I guess you could say we've come to an understanding and would call one another "friend") that still sits on my (formally Mother's) desk and stared back at me as I wrote these entries every night in my study.

365 days ago, I learned how to cry again (the last time was at Mother's funeral almost 14 years ago).

365 days ago, I had to watch the unimaginable and not stop it. It was through that singular event, that my life, my world, and the Dr. Niles Crane everyone knew ceased to exist.

365 days ago I tried to end my life and thus, ended up "here".

365 days ago I had to learn how to breathe, after it stopped.

365 days ago my heart had to learn how to beat again. Which of course it did, otherwise I wouldn't be writing to you now. But only, sadly, it beats slower and to a different tune.

365 days ago I had to learn how to function (for I had stopped living----and don't let anyone tell you different, there is a difference between living and functioning).

365 days ago, I had to stop.

365 days ago, I had to stop loving Daphne Moon.

P.S. I am being released this weekend from the mental hospital (or dungeon as I like to refer to it) that Dad and Frasier had me admitted to, and I will finally be going home. We used my savings so I could keep my home at The Montana.

Speaking of which… Frasier just called and told me and knowing the obsessive-compulsive clean freak that I am (hey, some things never change, no matter how much therapy you put into them), that Daphne (yes, as in Moon) was over at my place and currently cleaning/dusting my study (and the rest of the place too).

It will be so good to be home again…

Yours in Strictest Confidence,

Niles Crane