Now I better understand why my dad had my mom’s dresser still full of her things in his bedroom when we emptied his house at age 90 — 24 years after she was gone. I cling to the things which are full of memories, full of them. Being a pack rat doesn’t help.
Today I found a moving box labeled by Mary: Mary’s Books, 4/27/13. Exactly one week before our crash on 5/4/2013. She loved to read. When she was little, she loved to be read to. She loved a good story. She loved to laugh.
In what universe, did we decide to put a price on a person’s life and use that to determine whether we should bother to save them — to prevent an unnatural death which would cut short their existence? If it is possible to do something which would give them a chance to live out their earthly life , then why on earth would we decide that it would cost too much? Too much?! For whom?!