When I wrote But This Is Different, I was not unaware of the possibility that wreckage might someday be discovered. Did I worry about that while creating my novel? No. What I did try to do, though, was create a story capable of folding into history without disturbing it.
Throughout our lives, we travel a health-to-illness continuum, always seeking a return to wellbeing. While we acknowledge the physical realities of this continuum, it's harder to accept the emotional, cognitive and behavioral aspects.
There's nothing quite like "placing" an elderly family member in a "facility" to conjure up feelings of guilt and shame and anger and, yes, failure. None of those feelings was communicated to us in any way by my father-in-law.
History could hardly claim that either Earhart or Mead was without voice. The story's irony is that with public voices heard even now throughout the world, their private voices were as silent as those of any couple loving the love that even now struggles for a name.