But we’ll laugh again, I believe.
We’ll be okay.
We won’t always be in pain beyond color. One day, none of us will have cried for him. You can survive more than you’d believe; Dad had told me that. He’d also told me you can survive more than you want; but it’s not always up to you, not the enormous things, those are beyond all control.
“Hold on, Chookies,” Dad would have said, my life in tatters and tears. “It’ll be all right in the end.”
And if it’s not all right, it’s not the end.
I no longer pretend to know what the end may look like, and I’ve lost the arrogance to take a guess. Nor do I have the energy to keep entertaining myself with possibilities and impossibilities of what the end is, but I know the end is not now.
Or it is an end; all ends.
And therefore, I can only assume it’s also a beginning; all beginnings.
About the Author
ALEXANDRA FULLER was born in England in 1969. In 1972, she moved with her family to a farm in southern Africa. She lived in Africa until her midtwenties. In 1994, she moved to Wyoming. She has three children.
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* In wine, undefeated.
Travel Light, Move Fast Page 21
