Chosen To Live by Jerry Schemmel
Excerpts
Throughout the two years that it took to settle, I believe that at least subconsciously I felt that when the check finally came through there would be a few moments of elation, a sensation of well being or at least the passing notion that is was kind of fun to be handed a large sum of money I never anticipated. But the only operative emotion for me at the time was relief, a thankfulness that this portion of the ordeal was over and done. I headed south on the Boulder Turnpike back toward Denver with an emptiness in the pit of my stomach where I thought I would feel satisfaction.
As the highway merged into Interstate 25, just north of the city, I thought about the money and was struck by a different sort of accounting, one that had nothing to do with bills and savings and student loans. Jay Ramsdell was still dead, Sylvia Tsao’s little boy was still dead, and the only time I could see them alive anymore was in my nightmares.
The skyscrapers of downtown Denver loomed ahead on the interstate as my car completed the long, sloping right turn off the turnpike and sped closer to home, where I knew Diane would be no more excited than I was about the sudden change in our financial fortunes. The insurance check, the big, fat payoff for pain and suffering, sat on the seat next to me.
“Nothing’s changed,” I thought to myself.
