I have been writing my story for so long, writing about writing the story, wallowing in the hopeless inability to see it all come together. But finally, I have a book, looks like maybe of pure necessity three of them, a trilogy; there is so much to tell. What remains is merely the perilous operation similar to the delicate separation of Siamese twins, the reassignment of internal parts, the healing of exposed surfaces, and I have three distinct although always connected stories. I begin here to narrate the third and last about recovering from failure, new houses and new beginnings... I continue to imagine scenarios, that run like interchangeable movie frames in interminable sequence. Where are my children, right now? ...Ultimately, what is accomplished is no more, no less than our awesome realization of the absolute preciousness of life; of each of us to the other. Somewhat chastened and awed that we have indeed survived, we approach the coming days tentatively, not only with caution, but with more respect, cemented together for life.