Sweet baby,

You brought your daughter to the shore before you painfully sailed away. Your husband loved you like a sister, and he massaged your feet as you were fighting for air and a little less pain. He fed you, he covered you, he smiled to you and tried to cheer you up. We, cowards that we are, couldn’t tell him the news until we were damn sure there was no hope left.

We can’t understand why pieces of paper decide on the length of people’s lives. I’m sure your young man will never be the same, he’ll never ever believe in happy endings again, he’ll start feeling the unfairness of it all, and he’ll soon become bitter and resentful. Because how wrong is it to have to pay to live ?

And how wrong is it to expose it all and write it down ? There is no way we’ll feel better about it afterwards.