Memory, speak to me! Speak to me about music. Speak to me about the possiblity of death. Are there gods that dictated what happened that day? You were with me waiting to record the day's events in your own personal diary. You were waiting to aid me in remembrance. Did you ask the same questions that I did? Why him? Why cancer? Can it even be cured? How much is he suffering? Whose bone marrow will be his life preserver? I often wonder if you knew what was going to happen already. I wonder if you had already written the happy ending. Had you seen it played out? Did you create those dreams for me, those wonderful dreams of predetermined survival? Did you help save his life? Did we? Together? Memory, was that all he needed, just a little bit of hope? Some prayers? You, Memory, will never permit me to forget the tears, how they felt, steaming hot, coursing down my cheeks. You will never permit me to forget the numbness that overtook every aspect of my being. You'll never allow those feelings to be forgotten. I love you for that. I thank you, because for that reason, his recovery has been all the more rewarding to witness...
Thank you, Memory!
Thank you, Memory!
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