knowing
... gone forever – even to learn that it had been horrible or painful or terrifying at the end. To find out, once and for all, if you did go into that river. If the raging waters you loved so much took you from me – even to know that you went willingly. Or to discover if any of the hundreds of tips and theories were true. Did you get car jacked or kidnapped or worse? Or did you just decide to disappear – to walk out of that bar that night and leave your life behind. Was it all just too much? Too hard? Because if that’s the case, then you weren’t ever as brave as I thought you were – if you’re hiding on some Mexican beach somewhere – drinking Tequila just like you taught me, then frankly, you’re a coward. And the most despicable selfish bastard I’ve ever kno...