it. That particular fact can’t be changed now, no matter how much I might genuinely wish otherwise. Forty years of small waves across a driveway. Forty years of apples left quietly on our porch each autumn. Forty years of a man watching his own daughter grow up from behind a fence he never once crossed.
What actually can change, going forward, is what I choose to carry with me from here.
Forgiveness, if it genuinely comes at all, will take real time to arrive properly. That much I already
