I recently opened iPhoto for the first time in months and discovered this, the last picture I ever took of P. It was taken at a barbecue on Father's Day, two weeks before he died. I like it because it shows P doing something he loved to do, but it makes me sad because he's turned away from the camera, as if he's already saying goodbye.
I have his guitars in my bedroom closet, all three of them. I wish I could hear him play them again. I wish I knew how to play them myself. Maybe G will learn, one day. He'd like that.