August 8, 2003
Today is not the anniversary, nor close to it; and yet, for some inexplicable reason, I am remembering the day we were informed of David's dire medical condition and its ensuing, deadly prognosis. The words "brain cancer" and "glioblastoma multiforme" settled upon me and seeped into my bones with a shivering, hollow clatter. My spine stiffened, and in a semblance of quasifortitude I erected hyperbolic, impossible promises, roused from a sincere if uncomprehending heart. Ironically, as is often the case, it was David who guided me into position, locked and loaded my sights, and prepared me for his inevitable departure.