A month later, Billy sits at her dining room table sifting through the pictorial record of Chris's final days. It is all she can do to force herself to examine the fuzzy snapshots. As she studies the pictures she breaks down from time to time, weeping as only a mother who has outlived a child can weep. Betraying a sense of loss so huge and irreparable that the mind balks at taking its measure. Such bereavement, witnessed at close range, makes even the most eloquent apologia for high risk activities ring fatuous and hollow.
"I just don't understand why he had to take those kinds of chances" Billy protests through her tears. "I just don't understand it at all."
"I just don't understand why he had to take those kinds of chances" Billy protests through her tears. "I just don't understand it at all."