Each day was like putting together a puzzle, without knowing what picture it formed. He knew he had all the pieces. He knew he would figure it out in time. But there was no guide to help him, no end goal or instructions—only daily guesses.
The dingy 47th Street alley was home. She didn’t have a house or a car or even a refrigerator, but she had a roof and three walls that formed a cozy nook. She was content.
He sat on his living room couch, watching the news. He had tried so hard to convince them that he could save millions of lives, but they wouldn’t listen.
It took everything I had to get the ticket. Not money, of course. The last plane allowed to transport passengers out of the country couldn’t be bought with something as invaluable as money.
Their 50th wedding anniversary was celebrated that morning with many tears and memories. But it was evening, now. “Mary, I… I’m scared.”