For Allison

Today is the eighth aniversary of Allison's accident. It breaks my heart when tragedies like this happen, even though I know there's nothing I can do about it. Found this from Tennyson that pretty well sums it up:

Oh yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy'd,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;
Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last-far off-at last, to all
And every winter change to spring.
So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.

Sleep well, my dearest Allison. Sleep well.