It was a question I could not answer, and a vision I wished to shake. But I had not come here for answers. I had come, rather, to remember. To remember a girl I had not known and a mother and brother but briefly. To remember a young woman on her deathbed and an old woman in her wisdom. For Bob and Fran. For Parker, Danny Ray, Dolores, and Tyrone. For Patricia. I had come here to remember us all.

My arm lifted and my hand stretched forth. I held the flowers extended and poised over the abyss—then, slowly, one by one, my fingers opened and the bouquet fell away. I put both hands to the railing and leaned over to watch. The whiteness of the roses slowly fading, first to gray, and then to nothing, as they fell to the cold waters below—the river receiving my offering in secrecy and with grace.

I stood several moments longer, held rapt in silent contemplation. Then, turning my face toward the land below, I began the long descent.