This morning I had a dream that seems to recur every few years, wherein I find that Frank didn't really die. This time he had moved to San Francisco. I was in the hospital or something and found him on facebook. I contacted him and told him I really needed him to come home. Then he was here. Very happy to see him, gave him a big hug. He looked twenty years older but well, and just like Frank. I felt very sad that he had missed the entire upbringing of our son, and I knew he was going to go back to San Francisco, to a life he had built without us.