We both lost our spouses in October, while the leaves were still decaying in brilliant hues—colors that felt personal this time, neon signs pointing at our losses. I had left him just the week before, and was numbly packing and making plans, when I got the call from Sara, telling me that her dear friend’s wife had suddenly passed. She asked if I would play piano for the funeral.
I set aside the boxes and began working on the setlist that afternoon.
Read MoreRandy was a character—a lawyer, but the kind of lawyer who helped people and never seemed to get any richer from doing it. He was broad-shouldered and quirky; a man with simple tastes, who always wore a blue denim jacket and a floppy-brimmed hat to keep off the Portland drizzle, and walked with a slight lean to the left. I met him a few months before my divorce, and he looked over my papers for free because I was just north of broke at the time and he wasn’t about to let anyone take advantage of me.
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