Turning up the lights. I remember the advice of a good friend just after Cam had died. She’d lost her baby daughter and had decided Georgie’s short life would turn the lights up in her family’s life, not down. It’s only now that her advice is sinking in. It’s not Cam pulling the strings. It’s not Hugh. It’s me. Every choice I make either brightens our lives or darkens them. I remember the night Cam died, and my first observation being the extent to which I was still here. Alive. Breathing. This is not a fork in the road, I realize. It’s just the road. There’s no Story A and Story B. There’s
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