Experiences You'd Never Wish On Anyone

Here's a sample of one of my section abstracts for my proposal:

The next section holds heart-wrenching details of nasty decisions that have to be made -- ones that require a lit cigarette in your shaky hand, though you don't light one because you've quit.

I'm in awe of how the human brain decides to record memories. How are they filed? is it a double-entry system? How do you access them? Why can they randomly jump out at you when you least expect it?

"Do You Remember?" skims my sub-consciousness for memories of the grave site service, and I wonder why I only remember things in slivers -- not whole memories.

Like, I barely remember twenty-two month old Aubrey standing next to me at the grave and a soldier handing me an American flag. But I especially recall that for the rest of the year, every time she'd see one, she'd say, "Look Mommy. A flag for Daddy!" and I would tear up and hold my breath until my throat unseized.

Making decisions is excruciating for a grieving person. "The Funeral Pyre That Never Happened" is the story of my decision to respect Rob's mom's wishes to bury Rob, instead of following Rob's wishes for cremation. It's the story of my decisions to not look at his body, what to bury his body in and what casket to buy.

Another decision I make in those first days is not to view the pictures my family and friends take of the Explorer and the crash site and the marker they left there. I almost wait a year before viewing them. It takes a long time to feel ready. When I do, I expect tears, but instead, only cold analysis shows up. i contemplate the philosophy of guilt and the choices I have right now in this place -- a choice to live and to find purpose.

I think the piece de la resistance for tasks you'd never wish on anybody is in "Where's Daddy?" where I have to tell my daughter that her father is never coming home again. That it's not because he doesn't want to, it's because he can't. That he's far, far away, but that he loves her and always will.