12
FEBRUARY 26-27, 1988—SYRACUSE, NEW YORK (7 MONTHS LATER)I’m lying in bed looking up at the ceiling as Monie sleeps beside me. It’s almost midnight, and outside our window, large, fat snowflakes are falling. I watch them swirl and dance in the dim moonlight raining down from somewhere above and ponder being a father again. The thought of raising another child both frightens and excites me. I have another chance at a do-over, to read stories to him or her, go to plays, recitals, camping, and all the things I took for granted in my other life with Ted and Crystal. To be honest, I don’t think about them as I should or mourn their loss like I did when I first arrived here. But when I do, like right now, the hurt comes roaring back, bringing tears. Even though I know I can’t change what’s ha
