"One of life’s sad facts is there are people we no longer see who nevertheless gave us some of our best or most important experiences; but they don’t know it and never will. That’s because we didn’t know it until much later, in retrospect. He thought about the summer in Greece almost thirty years before when they were together and flew from island to island on cheap rattle’y propeller planes whenever they felt like it. Ten dollar rooms with the toilet outside down the hall. They read wilted, water-stained books while sitting next to each other on the small balconies off the rooms. Or sat silently together in complete peace while staring at the sea. No matter what kind of accommodations they rented, there always seemed to be a view of the sea. Every day they ate salads of tomatoes, olives, onions, and thick savory chunks of chalk-white feta cheese drizzled in fresh olive oil for lunch. They rented a blue Vespa. They walked on black volcanic sand. He bought them baseball caps because the Greek sun was ferocious. He was happy then and knew it. But his heart needed three decades more perspective and experience to understand just how happy he had been— Hall of Fame-happy, once in a lifetime-happy. By the time he realized it, she was thousands of days gone. One of his final wishes was to tell her, thank her for those days together. And if life were magical, which it is not, to sit together again in one of those rustic tavernas at sunset watching the harbor, the boats, the stars coming out, their simple dinner being served, thank her for being… her."