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January 24, 2009
One Sunday morning in about 1989 I cooked up a bacon and eggs breakfast for Cheryl Lancastle.

Linda came into the kitchen. She looked sarcastically at what we were eating, made some instant coffee, and remarks, and then she said, "Yeah, bacon and eggs. That's what's killing my father right now."

And she broke down. Never before or since have I seen her break down. She went out back—it was spring, the snow was mostly gone—and David followed her.

Linda came back in a bit later. Meanwhile, Cheryl and I, stupid about grief, didn't speak. We knew nothing.