Here we are again, the fifth summer without you, our annual trip to the East coast. I run and play and dig and swim with your brother and sister. I scratch your name on heart-shaped stones and throw them into the Atlantic, in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island. Soft red stones, your name scratched easily, and then tossed into the sea – an arc across the blue sky, a momentary splash on the surface and then sinking down, settling in again to the ocean floor, waiting to be tossed up on shore again one day…waiting for me next year and the year after and the year after that.