Dear Laura,
I have nothing prepared to write, but I woke up thinking of you. Today is your birthday, and Linz went down south to be with Dare and Cin. And you. To be with you. I have been thinking about you a lot, and I am sorry to say that my thoughts often turn to the unfairness of this year, the illness, the suddenness. I will work harder to drop the anger.

On Saturday, February 27th, I left the hospital with a reluctant feeling of despair. I had been fighting the despair for so long, but for some reason I could no longer resist. I gave in to the maddening. Helplessness. Anger. My windshield wipers whipped almost as furiously as my eyes blinked back the burning tears. I had been diligently praying and waiting for a miracle, and I was sick of being denied. I cursed. I talked to myself and my God, out loud, not caring what other afternoon drivers would think if they happened to look over. Sadness wrestled with rage for dominion.