Fifty-One Hours
That is the thing I have had to explain to about nine people, including, for a while, my own sister.
People hear that the decision was correct and they think that settles it.
They think that if the outcome was going to be the same, then what was taken from me was a formality.
What was taken from me was fifty-one hours.
Not a choice.
I do not believe I would have chosen differently and I will get to that, because it is the hardest part.
Fifty-one hours in which my son was alive, one floor above me, and I could have been in the room, and I could have put my hand on him, and I could have been asked, and I could have said yes, and I could have held him for two hours and twelve minutes on the evening of the fourth of March.
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