When I set out to edit The Longest Day, the first story that I wrote in 1996 about the loss of my father, I thought that I could finally do it. It is a piece that based on the story it tells, has covered over the mass tense and grammatical shortcomings. These were done because of the torture it was to pull those words from inside me and put them onto paper and keyboard. Despite how much I have written this year, revisiting The Longest Day at this depth is nothing short of time travel itself. The surprise for me is that the sharpened edge of emotion has not eroded in the last 27 years. I have decided if it has not yet, it never will either. I am determined to press on through the storm that bears down upon me each time I start walking down that editing trail.
The first time around, I needed to get the words out, but that was not enough. The idea of remembering my father, to tell the world that he was here and during the journey through the pages of reading, he was again for a little while. I have told myself that this in some ways brings honor of existence to him. I have to wonder if my motivations are more self-serving though. This was my way of not letting go of him, to defy that which there is no defiance.
I will not allow this to hold me back and prevent this story from reaching the place it deserves. Again, just like in 1996, it is to pay tribute to one of the best friends I ever had. There is no limit to the drive I can have when it comes to honor. I continue to reach deep within and tell the story, knowing that it is going to be the roughest ride, but I don't care. There are some things in which the source of energy has no limitations, and this is it.
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