"You had to live without love for many years, didn’t you? You felt that it was snatched away, that I left you too soon."
"You did leave too soon."
"There was a reason to it all."
"How could there be a reason? You died. You were forty-seven. You were the best person any of us knew, and you died and you lost everything. And I lost everything. I lost the only woman I ever loved."
"No, you didn’t. I was right here. And you loved me anyway. Lost love is still love, Eddie. It takes a different form, that’s all. You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it. Life has to end Eddie," she said. "Love doesn’t."