But he never ran from what he had done.
He spent the rest of his life walking toward it.
One alarm at a time.
One ramp at a time.
One terrible braid at a time.
One “I’ve got you” at a time.
He carried me as far as he possibly could.
My uncle raised me after my parents died. After his funeral, I received a letter written in his own handwriting that opened with the line, “I’ve been lying to you your entire life.”
