|The start to a substrate|
In mid-January of last year about 6 weeks before he would die, three gigantic books of house plans arrived by mail. Each book must have weighed 5 pounds and there were thousands of floor plans. My husband had been dreaming of a new home.
A single floor. No stairs and wheel chair accessible, he would tell me when I came to visit him at the rehab where he was trying to stand again.
Three days later, before I could even cart the last of the heavy books to the rehab, Rob would be transported back to the hospital and there we would learn that the prognosis was now terminal.
A year ago, I prayed so for a line of flight. We were in such need of a map, not a tracing.