The grass was close to where Patrick had kissed me for the first time forty-two years earlier.

I had remembered that kiss often during our marriage, usually when he insisted he had been more confident than he actually was.

He had been nervous.

So had I.

Forty-two years later, my hands were nervous for another reason.

Samantha stood quietly at my right.

No one made a formal speech.

There were things I could have said.