Prologue
When I was nineteen, I’d thought I had it all figured out. I’d found my soulmate, the great love of my life, and I was on a clear, direct path to the career of my dreams. What could possibly go wrong? My life was golden—until I went for a hike in the winter sunshine, and fell off a mountain.
I wish I could say I’d learned a lot from the ordeal—that when the ground collapsed under my feet and I tumbled down a vertical rockface, I’d come to understand that life isn’t always steady or predictable. I also wish that afterward, I could have recognized the long-term power and potency of trauma. How, for the rest of your life, lingering scars can steer you off course and make you doubt that anything good is truly lasting.
I’d absorbed no such wisdom that day, nor in the months and years that followed. Even when death came calling a second time, I had not yet recognized my ignorance.
But there I go again, dwelling on the past when this is supposed to be a story about love, forgiveness, and soulmates, and not just the human kind.
It’s a story about lessons learned—that there can be joy after tragedy, and hope after forgiveness.
There is growth in the healing.
But maybe that’s something you learn from life, over decades. Not from a fleeting encounter with death, however intense it may be.
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