The real stuff. Remembering the past, the first loves, the lost loves, the Corvette convertible that took me to over 130 miles per hour, the way it all felt, looked, and smelled; good friends, country roads, woodland paths, gentle touches, and the beauty of the children. And on and on and on.... I remember all of these things and others, like the gentle, warm way her touch felt and the absolute shock of her now being gone; like folks who cared enough to listen to me and others, like mountaintops in the foggy fall dusk, falling stars at night, saying goodnight to my 6 year old daughter almost...