macherry wrote:

Not a day goes by- not an evening, a snowfall, a moon- that I don't feel that loss. A glass of Scotch is a fine way to say yet another good-bye, and mourn his leaving. But the whiff of it, like the smell of fresh snow, or walking out to the place we used to sit together on my back deck; even -god forbid- the sight of another man's broad back and dark hair- catch me, catch at my memory, and pull me. Sometimes I can smile, now; many times I am still stunned. Always I remember that we took care of all our business that last morning, in pure honesty and love, unknowing what was about to happen. I can only feel at peace for him.