Then I ran across a slideshow. 

A man named Ben (a detail that is not lost on me) posted the photo shoot he did with his bride Ali in their empty house, just before moving in. The pictures are beautiful enough. But three years later his wife died of cancer. She left behind a baby named Olivia. Ben and Olivia held on tight to each other while they said goodbye to Ali. Then Ben asked the photographer who did the original shots to recreate them. With Olivia. 

Looking at the photos side by side, Ali unaware of her future, Olivia barely able to remember her past, is like that point of waiting at the gate.

"Do I stay? Or do I go? Where will it take me? Can I come back if I am homesick?"

The photographer is Ali's sister, Melanie, and she felt Ali's presence during the shoot. In the years since Ali died Melanie often finds a single feather when she is thinking of her. 

So she was not surprised when Olivia picked one up off the bare floor between shots. 

"Glad you could make it," she said.

John is at work now. But I think I will make him a nice dinner, and sit with him on the deck. 

And although I am not superstitious, I will even take a picture.