She is gone almost three years. She died on a Labor Day weekend when happiness, not sadness should have been the order of the day.

Lorraine, my wife, was her co-worker at the Visiting Nurse Service. The two angels formed an Alzheimer's support group, which is still ongoing, even as I write the story of our friend. New people have joined the group but the veterans all remember her. Nobody can think of her without having a wistful sigh that someone so good and kind should have met such an inglorious ending.

My problem is unsolvable! All around my house and my being are reminders of her. Six months before her death she gave me an autographed book inscribed with "For Dr. Greenberg - R. Beverly." I did not read the book when she was alive and at present I wonder if the book was a cry for help. I have since read the book and I can see certain areas that pertain to her life that I wish I could have reached out and discussed with her, at the time. The guilt makes me sad and doleful.

The beautiful white amaryllis plant she gave to Lorraine sits in our kitchen. It brings forth the most beautiful of flowers and it is repetitious in its blooming. When it explodes into bloom Lorraine and I think only of Beverly.

When I slipped on a tennis court and had need of a cane, Beverly supplied me with one. It is an ordinary wooden cane but it symbolizes the relationship. "Anything you need, just take it."

All these thoughts of Beverly came rushing back when last week I went prowling into my liquor closet for a glass of wine before dinner. On her last trip to Germany she brought back a bottle of "Wurzburger Stein Riesling Auslese" and presented it to us. She assured us that it was classic among German wines. As I slowly sipped the amber sweet wine from the interestingly shaped bottle, Beverly filled up our house.

Labor Day is Beverly.

The book, the cane, the wine are all Beverly.