As I sit here writing, and reading, I have a strong feeling that Burt is present with me.
It’s the first time, since the time I thought I needed to go check on him.
That had happened just a few days after he passed. It’s been months now, nearly eight, and this is different.
Today, I sense his presence as I write; I think oh boy, I want to read this to you. It’s as if he were here.
When I look up, I speak to the photos of Burt sitting on the table, watching over me.
this is our life 