It's a mother and a father who have lost their two sons. It's a sister who has lost her two brothers. It's loss and devastation. Acute pain-made more palpable on a day of worldwide, historical significance-brings to the fore the emotional wedge driven between a husband and a wife. And since the reason has them at loggerheads and creates such a strain in their marriage, they openly drift apart. John, the husband, at bottom a good man, finds release with another woman, a wholly unexpected encounter which he will rationalize to convince himself it is a chance occurrence; Mary, the wife, at bottom a good woman, turns to faith in the person of a Catholic priest, a priest who doubts his ability to guide her. He will, though, through prayer and steadfast support, get her to engage in search of self and see the futility of blame. Ultimately, a willingness to admit fault and to forgive will come into play. It must: a critical event will demand no less. But as they grapple with their needs as husband and wife, Doro, their thirteen-year-old daughter, finds herself left adrift ... until John, first, brings her into his embrace, and Mary, second, enfolds Doro in the love she had buried. John and Mary shows how the ache of loss can ebb and, with love in our hearts, transform into the good of life, allowing us to let go of the grief of death.