Heart of the Matter [antikvár]

TessaWhenever I hear of someoneelse's tragedy, I do not dwell on the accident or diagnosis, or even the initial shock waves or aftermath of grief. Instead, 1 find myself reconstructing those final ordinary moments. Moments that make up our lives. Moments that were blissfully taken for grantedand that likely would have been forgotten altogether but for what followed. The before snapshots.1 can so clearly envision the thirty-four-year-old woman in the shower one Saturday evening, reaching for her favorite apricot body scrub, contemplating what to wear to the party, hopeful that the cute guy from the coffee shop will make an appearance, when she suddenly happens upon the unmistakable lump in her left breast.Or the devoted young father, driving his daughter to buy her first-day-of-school Mary Janes, cranking up "Here Comes the Sun" on the radio, informing her for the umpteenth time that the Beatles