Whatever I've done in life has come at a cost. As you read on, you'll understand that most of these costs were not calculated in advance. Hell, I never even considered the price. If I thought through half the shit-drugs, marriages, being in love after a couple of days and deciding it would be great to live together-I never would have done it. There's one exception to this - the one thing I paid a heavy price for that I would do all over again. My son. My beautiful boy, Luke. He was-and is-the light of my life. He died in a car accident just before his seventh birthday. I'm telling you this now because his death isn't a plot point in a story, and it shouldn't be a spoiler. It's a thing that happened, in the way that senseless things happen in this world. Losing that boy was akin to having my soul ripped out. It took several years of self-abuse-followed by several more years of cleaning up and soul searching to find peace with his loss. In the end, it was Luke who taught me how to come to terms with his passing and live a decent life without trying to destroy myself. It was his innocence and love that helped me understand my purpose. I don't think anyone can be absolutely certain of their purpose, but perhaps mine was to tell others who have lost loved ones that it'll be okay. The love you felt for them will never die-that love stays until you, too, breathe your last. I choose to share my story and Luke's story because I want you to know that calamities are survivable. You can have a life after seemingly losing it all. I firmly believe this.