Only he knew the intricately interwoven personal details of a life left behind. Certainly, a person's friends and family observe what he does, hear what he says. Everyday. Naturally. However, so much swirls about in the head and confuses the heart. Even if he were inclined to share all his impressions and thoughts, he could not for sheer volume. The simple and ordinary, the beloved and revered, the cherished yet routine affairs of life. The tableau remains clear yet stillborn in the front of the mind, never to be delivered as casual talk through lips stilled by the sheer bewilderment caused by unexpected events. More than could ever be formulated into words under normal circumstances and, now, the utter shock that shuts down all but the most basic thought and speech.
It was never a question of choice. Acute illness, likely exacerbated by the chaos brought on by a recent upsurge of civil strife, had weakened Antoine. Nevertheless, he was forced to flee at a moment's notice. A lifetime's accumulation of possessions, wealth and relationships were wrested from him as quickly and effectively as a hat is blown off the head in a sudden, stiff wind that warns of worse ahead. The "hat" - the life - is gone; shredded memories remain to be picked through after the storm has abated.
Choosing to do this or that at your leisure is a luxury not afforded those caught in the midst of the bellicose. There is no continuity to the fabric of peace, a peace rent jagged when men have determined their goals will be attained no matter the cost of innocent lives. No matter the upheaval to a land healed but scarred from an earlier war.
Antoine lived. His family did not.
