Last night I had a couple of old friends over.  (old in terms of duration of friendship, not age)

We had a great time and it was very nice to have adult conversation.

When they left, I watched them walk to their car.  I was jealous that they will probably get to grow old together.

On the shelf in our bedroom there are three pictures of Marisa and I with each of our newborn children.  Those pictures are memories that remind me of the depth of our loss.  They remind me that Marisa won’t be here to see those kids grow up.  Those pictures are a past that included someone I didn’t want to give up and then I imagine a future that excludes someone that I want to keep.

How can the pain of the past co-exist with the hope of the future?