He planned, I would later learn, for contingencies I never knew existed, quietly, in the background of our whole life together.

I found it endearing and occasionally maddening, that restless forward-looking mind of his, and I never once guessed how far ahead it was actually running, or that the furthest-reaching plan of his entire life was one he would never tell me about until he was gone.

We built a home and we raised three children in it: Nancy, our eldest and our fiercest; Douglas, our quiet middle child who felt everything and said little; and Clinton, our youngest, soft-hearted and eager and, I would learn too late, the easiest of the three to fool.

Then came the grandchildren, five of them, each one arriving like a small miracle into our living room.