I cut off my facial hair yesterday evening. You remember that I was growing out the patch of hair on my chin for the last few years, and it was getting close to a foot long. It was scraggly and full of gray. Today, I find myself stroking my beard, but it’s not there. And I’ll go to rest my chin on my hand in a way that accommodated the beard, but again, the beard was not there as expected. It’s like how we kept reaching for ways of being in the everyday world in those first weeks after you left and discovering that you’re no longer there with us, Giles.