Despite my general analysis, I could pinpoint my greatest and worst days.The day I concluded my medical training for the Navy vs. the day I lost my father. The day I met my daughter, so tiny and pretty, vs. the day I married her mother. The day my Sofia called me Papi for the first time vs.the day I learned her mother, my ex-wife, was cheating on me with a member of a drug cartel. The day my daughter told me she loved me vs. theday I lost one of my best friends and almost lost another one. The day I met Isabella Specter vs. Zach Bryant’s funeral. The day Isabella and I professed our love for the first time. And the day her cold, lifeless body lay before me. She hated winter for a reason, and I had it on good authority that shewas right in doing so. I lost my best friend during an odd rain in a snowy December.Exactly one year later, I was kneeling—shaking and frozen to the bone—infront of Isabella’s sprawled, cold body in the snow. And only one of us was breathing. That dangerous see saw we called life had surely worked its number on me. I liked to think I was a good person. So, if evidence was to beconsidered, I was paying for way more than my sins.There was no good answer for what was happening to me. I couldonly figure that, for better or for worse, some days were supposed to leave amark on our live