Ralph died last week and was buried next to his bride.
Every day, I look at his house across the street.
It is the same, and it will never be the same.
(Ralph reading Stegner to me, in the car)
Ralph's son, Ron, read a little verse by Edna St. Vincent Millay, one of Ralph's favorite poets, at the service.
"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you."
Posts
