And so, protesting, I surrender to the questions that must be asked. The ones that demand an honesty I’m not sure I want to own. “Does what you saw still hold true? Is this an exception?” I’d like to believe those questions were lost, but I know that when I reach the end of the road, there they sit, like they were waiting for me. I’d like to believe that I could never reach the end of the road again, but experience says otherwise. Here I am. Here they are. It seems I can hardly bear the pain. But I’m good with pain. An expert. Grace finds a voice. Yes, it still holds true. No, this is not an exception.