||A man named Robert L. May, depressed and broken hearted, stared out his drafty apartment window into the chilling December night. His four-year-old daughter Barbara sat on his lap, quietly sobbing. Bob’s wife, Evelyn, was dying of cancer.
Little Barbara couldn't understand why her mommy could never come home. Barbara looked up into her dad's eyes and asked, "Why isn't Mommy just like everybody else's Mommy?"
Bob's jaw tightened and his eyes welled with tears. Her question brought waves of grief, but also of anger. It had been the story of Bob's life. Life always had to be different for Bob.