It has now been two years since my father was murdered.

I have nothing much to say except to remember again how precious life is, and how much it can change in an instant.

The second year since Peter's death was not a year of magical thinking. It was a year of friends and family and work and reality, and wondering what Nancy is thinking as she sits in her jail cell. Does she feel remorse? Regrets? Nothing at all? I try not to think about her, but that's like trying not to think of the purple elephant when someone says, "Whatever you do, don't think of a purple elephant!"

I miss Peter very much and hope he is in a better place.