It was just before midnight on New Year’s Eve and the traffic was light through the intersection at Whyte Avenue and 99 Street. A Google search reveals the night was the coldest of the year with a bone chilling -35 C in Edmonton, AB. It’s the last day of the year 1951 and a young couple smooch while waiting for a bus heading downtown. Him – with the bad boy “James Dean” leather and denim; her – with the beauty of a movie starlet – black coiffed hair draped in a sheer scarf, ruby red lips, a warm wool swing coat in passionate pink. The passing New Year’s Eve of 2012 would have marked 60 years for my Mom and Dad and a love affair cut short by the death of my mother in November. They had made plans to return to this spot to renew memories of the time together which began so long ago as young lovers. My Dad shared his intent to go on their “date” and wondered aloud if he was just being a crazy old man. I assured him he was not – in fact, it was a beautiful, loving way to remember despite his sorrow and deep loss. We all feel the gaping hole her passing has created but none, I am sure, more than the man who never stopped loving, remembering, and believing.