Sometimes, Questions Are More Hurtful Than Insults.

We All Know How To Be A Child. It's Inside All Of Us. For Me, It's Just Remembering How To Enjoy It.

Parents Rarely Let Go Of Their Children, So Children Let Go Of Them. They Move On. They Move Away. The Moments That Used To Define Them - A Mother's Approval, A Father's Nod - Are Covered By Moments Of Their Own Accomplishments. It Is Not Until Much Later, As The Skin Sags And The Heart Weakens, That Children Understand; Their Stories, And All Their Accomplishments, Sit Atop The Stories Of Their Mothers And Fathers, Stones Upon Stones, Beneath The Waters Of Their Lives.

I Would Lying If I Said I Would Laugh In The Face Of Death.

I Asked Myself, 'am I Going To Withdraw From The World, Like Most People Do, Or Am I Going To Live?' I Decided I Am Going To Live - Or At Least Try To Live - The Way I Want, With Dignity, With Courage, With Humor, With Composure.

Shouldn't The World Stop? Don't They Know What Has Happened To Me?