"When the person you love kills himself time stops,"
the widow says at one point. "It just stops at that moment."
I
look at Andrew’s wonderfully handsome face in pictures and think he will never
grow old. He will never age. He will always be 28. This thought is filled with
sadness at all of Andrew that I will never experience and also with a deep relief
that he will never deteriorate, never land on the street talking to himself and
waiting for help from a passerby.
Maybe this would be preferable to being dead or
with no hope. I don't know
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