On a lovely October day, I sit by the fire at my father-in-law’s favorite campsite in the Cascades near Leavenworth, Wash. I hear his delighted laugh on seeing the pile of puffball mushrooms his grandchildren have picked for supper. I imagine his easy contentment watching the water sparkle around the bends of Icicle Creek. When the late afternoon sun glows golden in the leaves, it seems like a bright farewell, both painful and precious. It is the first anniversary of Robert’s death.