It’s Sunday morning and the faithful have gathered. The bell choir is playing and I allow this to be a time when I don’t have to think about the words being spoken or sung. Ron, Erinn, and their youngest daughter are sitting two rows directly ahead of me. Ron and Erinn are the age Trina would be. I use them as a mental/emotional point of connection with Trina since the three were such good friends particularly during high school. My eyes are starting to water and now a drop slides down one side of my face and then the other. It’s a part of who I am right now and I’m not going to reach my hand up to wipe it away.