I heard this morning, as I write this on Oct. 29, that one of the most precious people in my life has gone.
I scarcely can imagine the sun will continue to shine without Annie Lahti; that spring will ever come again and that I will find my way home.
I write this for her.
I would have sat at your bedside these last weeks had I been able; had I been allowed to abandon my post in the Yukon. I would have held your hand, whispered my favourite stories—stories of you.