You died on a Friday morning in late March. Lots of snow still on the ground, warm days, cold nights; perfect maple syrup weather. You left earlier than usual; you had sap to collect for the students to boil that day. The last time I spoke to you, you were dressed for a cold day outside. You stood in the doorway by the kitchen. I could only see half of you as you waved and said good bye; sorry for waking you up so early, got to pick up the sap truck, pick up the sap, and get back before school starts. I said good bye from the doorway to our bedroom, almost the whole house length away. Neither of us said “I love you”. You never made it back to school. I ask, what if we knew? He would have called his children and his parents, even if that meant waking them up. We would have held each other tight and said I love you, forgive me, and find love again or at least happiness. But we didn’t know so we expected the day same as yesterday, with no thought whatsoever that yesterday was our last.