It was her birthday.
He’s only three.
The wind was still, the reeds at Timney pond did not shake or sway that morning. No might or power shone from the grand view. How many times have I thanked the Lord that he kept my little, dimpled, freckled brother away from you and that smoking gun that morning?
It was dark and your headlights reflected on the pavement, still wet from recent rain. Would you have done it in the day? Would you still have been able to lift his little body out of the car seat under the kind, illuminating light of the sun?
I don’t understand how you could do that to your wife, your beloved wife. You loved her, I know you did. You weren’t all she had, but you were her world.
I don’t understand how you could do that to your son, your baby home in the crib. And what about your husband, the unborn child you carried?
You tried to get help, I wish someone would’ve looked harder, pushed, tried. I’m sure they did. But I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t.
Why didn’t you get help? You may have thought it was better to keep it to yourself, avoid the fuss, not spread the pain around. But now…
Did you have ultimate hope? Are you at peace? I have a stronger burning for souls to find rest because of you; I choose this as your legacy.
You had ultimate hope. I am so very sorry for you, but I hate you. I’m sorry for that too, but they all question Him because of you. No. It’s not your fault. I don’t hate you, forgive me. People question, this is normal, this is human.
You were a friend.
You were a stranger.
You were loved.
You were loved.
And it doesn’t make a difference.
Except that it does. We are more than just the end of our lives. Advice books tell novice writers that while the beginning of your novel is important, it’s the last bit that really counts. Because by the time the reader gets there, your ending is all they’ll remember and they’ll judge you for it, and with it. But we are not the last page. We are every chapter, every sentence, every word. We are every life that intersects with ours, every smile, every argument, every choice. And all I can do is pray that I make mine count.