I made an apple tart this week, just the kind Robin liked, and that the whole family ate together on his birthday when this photo was taken. Maybe next year I’ll make them from the old apple trees in his garden, still bearing good, sweet fruit.

Once, when he was in hospital for a short stay, he described to me how much he enjoyed the apple pie he was served one day. I though it funny that he could take pleasure in a hospital apple pie in the middle of that kind of stressful experience, but sometimes he had that ability to focus on a small detail let the waves of anxiety go.

To make an apple tart, now, is to cast a little anchor into happiness, and let this grief subside for a moment.

Happy birthday, Uncle.