“Why didn’t I record him? I think again, with a deep pulse of pain. And just as fast, I feel a breeze ripple over my back, and it's hard not to believe or maybe just hope-that maybe I didn't need to record it.
That maybe he's here, his atoms redistributed, the ashes we sprinkled in the river near our house now mixed with the sand all around me, his love permanent and intractable as ever.
Love isn't something you can cup in your hands, and I have to believe that means it's something that can't ever be lost.”