“More than one more day,” he had whispered to her before he walked her to the altar. “More than one more day,” he had whispered to her on the five days and nights he saw her in the Beth Israel North ICU. “More than one more day,” I had whispered to her in his absence on the days and nights that followed. As you used to say to me, she had said when she stood in her black dress at St. John the Divine on the day we committed his ashes.
