I was in Mexico on the third anniversary of Peter's murder. Running down a deserted beach that morning, I found no answers. Staring up at the spectacular stars that night, I found no peace. As the Beatles said, "Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on." Except when it doesn't. Except when Nancy shoots you in the head while you are asleep.

I still wonder what Nancy's days are like. I wonder what she thinks. I wonder if she misses freedom, or is fine trading her freedom for three squares per day plus shelter. For most people, that's an absurd question--trade your freedom for room and board? But for many of us who knew Nancy, it's a legitimate question.

Separately, a close friend told me a couple days ago about his "happiness coach." Sounds like a very interesting concept, perhaps I will check it out.