A year ago today, we woke up and you listened to Miles Davis's "A Love Supreme." It was Sunday, and you called that jazz record your "church." Before we left the house, you pulled out a chair at the kitchen table to tie your shoes. When you looked up, you told me that all you wanted in life was to make me happy. It was the kind of thing you said often, but I will never forget this particular time--the way you looked when you said it, the light in the kitchen, one leg crossed over the other knee with your laces in hand. We had no idea that would be our last Sunday, our last walk through the park, our last weekend together. And in the beginning, your words haunted me. How could I possibly be happy? How could you say that and then be ripped from my life so suddenly? We walked the Beltline down to Piedmont Park, where we stopped to watch a saxophonist. He played in front of a gazebo with the lake as his backdrop. We searched for shade beneath oak trees. We sat on a swing facing the lake and watched as the sun formed a starburst between the leaves. I can't remember what we talked about, but I know we were talking. Over ten years in, and we never ran out of things to say to each other. I can't count how many times I've looked up and wanted to tell you something. Or reached for my phone, thinking if I could only call--. This is our last photo. It's a motion one. We're sitting on that swing in front of the lake, and just before the shutter clicks, I hear your voice. In the beginning, I played that clip over and over again. With your music, you left so much of yourself behind, but it's not enough. It can't replace our conversations. Those times in the car, when you'd drive past our exit because you didn't want our conversation to end. Your enthusiasm for music, life, space, the desert, everything. I miss hearing what you were learning, your opinions, being able to turn to you and ask what you think. But now I know that you telling me you wanted me to be happy was a gift. Two days later, you'd be gone, and that was the message you left me. I'm trying to find glimmers of happiness. I love you and miss you. Forever and always.