It hurts, every step I take hurts. Sometimes I stumble, sometimes I just fall asleep between steps, sometimes I see things -- my little boy telling me: "Papa, almost there." or my eldest son looking at me, pale-faced, worried, silent. When I look again they're gone, as if they were never there, I must be hallucinating. But they're so real.

Almost 16 hours since that fight, since the pain became unbearable. Almost 16 hours since I started to walk. Walk through the night, walk trough the rain, walk with that pain. And now my body is wet and cold, my legs hurt, my feet hurt, and most of all my heart hurts.

So I stumble on, sometimes with company, until I look again, sometimes all alone. For that bridge is near now, that bridge that will help me stop the pain. "A few more steps daddy," my little one says, encouraging me. And then he's gone again. Where did he go?

And now I'm climbing, up that slope, up, and then down, so the pain will cease. As will I...