In the spring of 1999 I and another member of the American Red Cross boarded a flight bound for the Balkan conflict in Kosovo. A veteran of many humanitarian assignments, I felt no particular concern about the trip. But on the evening of my departure the chronic anxiety that had become a part of my daily life suddenly flared into full-fledged panic and even as the plane pulled away from the gate I stood and demanded to be let off…
During the holidays my wife received word that a favorite cousin had been hospitalized with advanced brain cancer. He is young, handsome, charismatic, a business owner, a newly minted husband and father of a child not yet one. Family and friends are stunned, praying…
His name is Gene Sprague. He paces the Golden Gate’s walkway at its highest point, occasionally stopping to gaze down at the water more than 200 feet below. Immersed in their picture-taking, nearby tourists fail to notice him. His pacing stops, he brushes his…