Back when I was 8 or 9 and wanted to be a nun, I would often stop at church on my way home from school.

I was actually lost in Beirut on the way home.

My daughter, Grace, was not killed by a gun. She died suddenly at age 5 from a virulent form of strep. As I stood stunned in a church at her memorial, one of the hardest things I heard someone say was, 'I'm going to go home and hug my child a little tighter.' 'Well, good for you,' I thought. 'I'm going to go home and scream.'

I listen to the phone-ins on the way home and I know how the fans feel.

I would rather die in freedom on my way back home than starve to death here.

Once you're halfway home, you know that you can probably get the rest of the way there.