MY DAD joins me at the off-leash park the next morning.

“I’m proud of you,” he says partway through the walk. “You’ve been through an awful lot in a very short time frame.”

“Thanks.” I throw the ball for Sasha.

“And there certainly doesn’t seem to be a shortage of people offering you their opinion or religious belief.”

I turn to him. “You don’t believe in any of that God and Christian stuff, do you?”

“That’s a very general question, Adri.”

“Do you believe there was a person called Jesus?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe he was the Son of God?” I ask.

“No.”

“Who was he then?”

My dad sighs. “I think Jesus was probably a very kind and compassionate man who profoundly touched many people’s lives.”

“What about the Bible? How do you explain all his miracles and prophecies?”

“The Bible is a religious document written over hundreds of years,” he says, throwing the ball, “which means there were many different people altering the original story of Jesus, likely to suit their own personal or political agenda.”

“But how do you know that for sure?”

He stops and looks at me. “Read your history. The birth of Jesus didn’t happen in a vacuum. The Jews and Arabs had been at each other’s throats for centuries—that’s what most of the Old Testament is about.”

“Oh.”

“The crisis going on today in the Middle East stems back thousands of years…there’s a real danger in not understanding history.”

“Dad, I just lost my husband. I can only handle so much right now.”

He nods. “You’re right.”

I sigh. “I guess I just want to know why you don’t believe in Christianity.”

He is quiet a moment. “Well, there are parts I believe in.”

“Such as?”

“The common-sense teachings of Christ—like treating others as you’d like to be treated yourself. I believe in that.”

“But the story of Jesus, as a whole, you do not believe?”

“Look,” he says, facing me. “I’m sure there are elements of truth to the story. But the chances of the whole thing being a completely, literally true story are extremely slim.”

“So how do you know which parts are true?”

“That’s up to the individual reader to decide, although common sense is always a good rule of thumb. Unfortunately, people believe what they want to believe—whatever makes them feel better.”

“That’s a pretty shitty thing to tell me right now,” I reply, thinking that feeling better was my main goal at this point.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Adri.”

“Then don’t.”

“On the other hand,” he says, “I’m not going to lie to you about my beliefs.”

“I see.”

“I’m just concerned about all the religious crap coming at you. You’ve suffered a huge loss and a significant shock. That puts you in a very vulnerable position. I just want you to be careful about what you choose to believe at this point.”

“I want to be happy again,” I say.

“Then be prepared to do the work to get yourself there because religious beliefs won’t do that for you.”

“They can help.”

My dad shrugs. “It just seems to me that reality itself is far more miraculous than anything we could ever dream up or imagine.”

I sigh and throw the ball for Sasha.

“What’s on this afternoon?” he asks.

“Ed and I are choosing Sam’s headstone.”

“Would you like me to go with you?”

“Yeah.”

AN HOUR later, I’m tombstone shopping with my dad and Ed, the geologist in the family.

“You’ll want granite,” my brother advises, “because it’s the strongest rock.”

I nod. “Strong is important.”

“And the carved lettering,” he adds, “will never fade on granite.”

I point to a shiny black stone. “What about this one?”

“Very nice,” says my dad.

Ed suggests we find out where it’s from.

“I believe it’s from India,” is the headstone guy’s response. “But I’ll have to check…I mean, we don’t usually get asked that question.”

“I hope it’s from India,” I say when he leaves to check.

Ed, also the traveler in the family, turns to me. “You’ve always been pretty keen on India, haven’t you?”

I nod. “Uh huh. Maybe one day I’ll make it there.”

“You will.”

“Uh guys,” says my dad, “what significance does India have in choosing a headstone for Sam?”

Ed and I look at our dad, as if he’s the weird one.

“It’s important to me is all,” I say, not knowing why myself.

The headstone guy returns and confirms the stone is from a quarry in India.

“See?” says Ed. “Now you have a reason to go to India.”

My dad shakes his head. “Which is…”

“So she can see the earth where Sam’s rock was created.”

“As for the epitaph,” says the headstone guy, perhaps thinking today is not the best time to go into details, “our graphic artist will be in touch.”

ED ACCOMPANIES me to the dog park the next morning. Since he’s catching a flight home to northern Ontario this afternoon, this is our last chance to visit.

“I can’t believe you spoke at Sam’s funeral,” he says. “That was quite something.”

“Neither can I…but I am determined to find some good in Sam’s death.”

“I know you are.”

I pick up Sasha’s tennis ball and chuck it as far as I can. “It’s my job.”

I can’t help but notice the concern on Ed’s face.

“Sam touched a lot of lives, Adri. He won’t be forgotten.”

“I know. But I’m just worried that now all the excitement’s over, people are just gonna carry on like nothing happened.”

Ed stops walking. “People are going to do what they’re going to do.”

“What did you whisper in Sam’s ear?” I ask.

He frowns. “At his funeral?”

“Yeah.”

“I said, ‘Good game, Sam…you played a good game.’”

I nod slowly, and we resume walking.

“He really did, didn’t he?” I say a moment later.

Ed nods. “Yep. He accomplished everything he set out to. Sam’s a real inspiration to me, Adri…he is to a lot of people.”

I am about to reply but Ed stops walking again. He turns to me. “It takes tremendous tenacity to pursue your life’s purpose with such passion and dedication.”

I nod, processing this.

He smiles. “And such incredible focus.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Laser beam focus.”

Ed winks. “That’s what it takes.”

We resume walking. As we near the parking lot, I ask Ed if he has any advice to give me before he leaves.

“Nope. You’re doing just fine on your own.”

“But what about my finances?” I say. “I’m kinda freaked about all that.”

“You can handle it—and what you can’t, you ask for help. But just remember that free advice is free for a reason…and you tend to get what you pay for in life.”

“I should get a financial advisor?”

“That’d probably be wise, yeah. I’ve spent the past ten years hammering financial advice into you and Sam, but your situation has really changed now.” He lets out a little laugh. “That you’ve got your wills, retirement fund, mortgage and life insurance in order tells me you guys were listening after all.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that we had our act together so young?” I ask.

“I think,” he says carefully, “it was just common sense planning.”

But on our California vacation, Sam and I had experienced his ideal retirement. We’d always joked that there’d be no motor home for us—just an open road with the top down. We did the convertible thing, sipped tall fruity drinks by the pool in Vegas, and held hands watching the sunset over the Grand Canyon. Our vacation was an encapsulation of all the fun stuff life has to offer: sex, food, beaches, laughter, childhood, retirement. Could Sam have been on some sort of accelerated life plan? He died young, but he accomplished more in his four years on the job than many people do in twenty-five. Even his hair had turned prematurely gray in those four years.

I turn to Ed. “Could there be some sort of greater plan at work here?”

He pauses a moment before replying. “Adri, I’d be very careful about reading too much into things.”

“But—”

Ed looks me in the eye. “If I were you, I’d focus more on what Sam had to teach you. The guy knew exactly what he was doing with his life.”