But he isn’t there. I realize that I don’t even know his name. There is so much I don’t know about him. God, am I going crazy? It’s just a dre...m. Tomorrow I’ll make an appointment with a therapist. And then he’s there. Sitting in front of me like he’s always been there. “I’m so glad you made it! So, where should we go? Paris? Italy? Vermont? St. Lucia? Hell, the Garden of Eden if we want.” “Too much history.” We laugh the easy laugh of old friends. “Do you like wine? How about Italy?” “Italian. The other thing that he did religiously was to write a letter to each of his children each week. He mailed them and they did not come back but he never knew if they received them or not as he never got a reply. Two years later, they started to come back marked ‘Moved, no forwarding address.’ He continued to write the letters but no longer wasted the money for postage. He put them into two boxes, one for each child. While in town one day, he discovered that there was a small farmer’s market open. More

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