All Was (Mostly) Well
Prologue:
All was well.
All was not, however, fantastic, nor was all easy, nor glamorous, nor exciting. By no means, was all perfect. Of course, there were moments, sometimes seemingly epochs, of prodigious joy and comfort that seemed to sweep the word with their greatness, but there were always holes. Holes that may seem lesser in happy times, but no amount of good fortune could fill them, not completely. There would always be memories. There would always be empty seats, even if they had long since been set out at the dinner table. There would always be pangs of sorrow, of guilt, when certain names were mentioned. All was well— well enough at least, but nothing was ever the same.
