Sixteen years today.
This morning I opened one of the notebooks we kept as a family, pages filled with small drawings, stray thoughts, things we noticed and didn’t want to lose. I found this page and felt that familiar shift: the sense that Dennis is still in conversation
Time has moved but the way we learned to see together remains. I still catch moments through his eye, humor where I might have missed it, curiosity in the ordinary, a quiet insistence on paying attention
Some conversations never end.
They simply change form.
