Linda and I were both 19 years old when we were married. Children. I used to shock people by declaring that I had had five marriages. Then I would get a smile when I said that they had all been with the same woman (and there had been no divorces). Over 34 years, we each changed and changed again. We became different people. Like the phoenix, our marriage survived crisis after crisis, rising anew from the ashes each time.

The last crisis was breast cancer. Neither Linda nor the marriage survived it. But, to my horror, I did. All of our plans had seen her as the survivor, not me.

Our daughter, Meredith, and I brought Linda home from the hospital and — with the help of my mother — cared for her night and day during her last month. One by one, her legs and arms and vision and speech left her. And, when she breathed her last breath, we both held her hands. Then, I saw her spirit flutter away. And she was gone.