We have no guarantee of numbers. We think our days are infinite but they are not. One will be the last. And this not the hardest part. The hardest is knowing those we cherish will share our fate; we can make no deal to change that.
It is a house like any other on our street. Small and neat, with a few tidy shrubs in the yard. The only sign that disaster occurred there is a patch of flattened sod near the sidewalk. Where the plane crashed.