In reverse order, for the sake of perspective
and since I remember it in that order
His funeral, attended by both clowns and bleary eyed musicians of various shapes and sizes
Our trip to Vancouver, and his misguided attempt to ride an elk
several forays into self employment, most noticeable of which was the painting of murals (a particularly bad portrait of the mayor's wife being the high and low point of that period)
Six months on the Yucatan, when we were both as tan as the cigars we shared in the hammock
The day we were married, and that first night in his grandfather's shotgun shack
It was a full life, by anyone's definition.
It makes no sense I should feel so empty.