Wiping them with the back side of my hand, and losing sight of any reverence, I sternly command, “Where is my sister?”
“Why do you ask, Tony?”
Now the tears are rolling, and I stutter, “I don't see her.”
“Tony, let me explain something. I like Martin—you know I'm talking about Luther, right? He was a real straight shooter, but even he had questions about the taking of one's own life. He got most of it right, but some of it he got wrong. The way I see it, those who harm themselves are suffering a kind of helplessness and hopelessness even I have a problem understanding. I remember your sister, and I held her close in my arms until her last breath.”
Still weeping, I ask, “Is she here?”
“Look over there,” He says pointing to an open field.
Looking out, there appears a bright, shining li
