“It’s been two weeks since I lost him. I’ve been given my notice now. My first donation is in a month’s time. I come here and imagine that this is the spot where everything I’ve lost since my childhood has washed out. I tell myself, if that were true, and I waited long enough, then a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field, and gradually get larger until I’d see it was Tommy. He’d wave and maybe call. I don’t let the fantasy go beyond that. I can’t let it. I remind myself I was lucky to have had any time with him at all. What I’m not sure about is if our lives have been so different from the lives of the people we save. We all complete. Maybe none of us really understand what we’ve lived through, or feel we’ve had enough time.”
I don’t know why, but this picture scares me. It’s such a beautiful, peaceful, calm, serene scene, yet she looks like she’s facing life head on. Have you ever had those moments? When you just look at the world and you’re like, “This is what it’s come to.” and for her, it seems like it’s come to drowning herself. Now I pray that’s not true and maybe it’s just how I see the picture but there’s just something about it. The way she moves her left hand, like she’s nervous or scared and how the sky is totally calm and all that stands before her and the ocean, is 10 feet of sand. But I could be totally wrong, perception is everything.