this journal will not be about flogging the ways in which I think I failed my daughter, the guilt that twists me and sometimes clouds my second marriage, the endless what if.. what if... what if... that afflicts me in the oddest ways. I will never change my home phone number, because someday she might call. I will never sell my house, because someday she might come home. I worry that I do not have the financial cushion that I should have at this stage of my life, because someday she might need me in some part of the world. No, it will not be about that. Instead, I will remember the patience of my spouse, the way Ariane sparkled, the texture of the days that we shared. The hardest part of loss is losing the hope for the future, and I refuse to give that up.