“The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?”
– Edgar Allen Poe
This story does not have a happy ending. Our young hero does not survive and love does not conquer all. But I feel compelled to tell the tale anyway. Because for a year we lived with hope–a fair amount of delusion and anguish and fear, but mostly hope.
And I don’t want to forget any part of it. The good, the bad, and the incomprehensible, hopefully remembered through photos, texts, emails, and my own imperfect memory.
This is also for the kids. One day, when they are older. They know their dad fought for them, but how can they understand what that means? There’s no way to distill his last twenty months, why we did what we did and how we survived, into a conversation.
So this is for them.
And me. Because the past haunts me and I am on the other side of hope.