Some say fate never fails. Bound forever by time, unstoppable, predetermined and non-negotiable, it offers solace when things are out of our own hands. More than anything, it is so comforting to know that fate can intervene, and make possible what otherwise couldn't have worked out more perfectly.

Christa and Darrell met in junior high school in October 1999. Darrell was 12 and Christa, 13. They became steadfast souls, absolutely always there for one another. Both woven of the same cloth, their friendship refused to fray while those on the fringes of their worlds faded away. They maintained their friendship even after they finished high school, and attended different universities. After their college graduations, Christa moved to Italy, and Darrell moved to New York City. Despite living on disconnected continents and separated by an ocean, their deep friendship endured. Strewn lovers fell by the wayside in both of their lives, but like devoted and kindred souls, these two friends remained loyal.

Eventually, fate intervened once more. Christa and Darrell came to realize why their previous relationships failed and they always turned to one another to soothe their wounded hearts; they were bound to be together.

Now, they are.

On August 12th at five in the afternoon, Christa's father escorted her down the aisle toward the handsome man who had always owned her heart. The happiness was palpable as the stunning bride joined her handsome fiancé under the grapevine-adorned wedding canopy and they recited their wedding vows. As I stood there next to my own childhood soulmate Will, the tears fell.

These tears were almost never shed. And the story I am about to share would have had to be told by someone else.

You see, I almost wasn't at this wedding to watch our son Darrell marry his breathtaking bride. In fact, I almost wasn't a part of his life beyond his 3rd birthday. As Will and I watched them exchange their wedding rings, all at once it dawned on me; there was so much that might not have been. So many memories never made, so much love unshared, and much too much pain to.bear...

In May, 1990 I was happily married to my sweet Will, who was in training and never home. I had three little boys, four, three and six months of age. To some it looked like I had everything, but in truth I had nothing. My years of emotional abuse at my mother's hands had taken every last ounce of hope, happiness, and even finally the fumes I was running on. I only wanted to stop hurting. I hated myself far more than I could ever love my husband and boys.

My family deserved more than I could give, and certainly more than I was. I wanted and needed to stop living so the pain could stop too.

Moving forward 17 years of healing later, I can finally put all the pieces together. I looked at our beautiful Robert and wondered, had I ended my life who would have reminded him to brush and floss his teeth, then summon the tooth fairy to swap money for baby teeth from beneath the pillow of my child with his jack O'lantern smile? Who would have consoled him when an entire colony of big black ants discovered his secret candy stash under his bed and came marching in formation from all five states that border Massachusetts? Who would have been there to pack his school lunch box with his favorite "steam roller" or "earthquake" sandwiches and write "I love you" on his napkin? Who would have helped him decorate cupcakes for his Cub Scout bake sale, make costumes for school plays and finish art projects? Who would encourage his teacher to give him an EXTRA punishment when he told her he couldn't stay for detention after school because I had a deadly illness and he had to come straight home to care for me every day? More than anything else, who would have understood, respected and encouraged his free-spirited soul, boundless energy, and musical and artistic talents? Who would have protected his sensitive heart and nourished the innocence that continues to render him one of the kindest and most loving persons I've ever known?

It's funny though, how it all makes so much sense to me now. Teetering on that 6th floor ledge with only concrete below was my plan, but fate had better plans for me, my family, and the 10 000 survivors who have faith in the hope I show them. This is where my heart is and will remain. I am here. I have found my footing on a path that takes me to where I am needed and give give all of myself. This is my story. My sweet surrender to the beautiful moments that almost never were...