The last time I was here you were still alive. How can I forget you when some of my most precious memories have you in them? When I first heard the news, I thought, what right do I have to feel sorrow, to miss you? What claim of closeness, of intimacy do I possibly have, compared to your new wife, so unfairly widowed? None, I thought. But that’s wrong. Looking back on photos of these places we saw together, photos you took of me, photos I stole from your much better camera, those are memories of yours that were shared by you and me and not a soul more. Argentina we shared with the whole group. Certain long walks, adventures, jokes, were shared by the trusty four: the three boys and me, the lone girl. But some of those, a precious few, were just us two. Just us two experienced the bright blue pool at the top of that mountain, just us two stood gazing out on that impressive landscape, feeling so small. Of course, how could I think for just one second I meant nothing to you, when you and I shared things that were just so big?
