Let me rephrase that.

I was looking for a letter opener in Carol's desk drawers.

I didn't find the letter opener that I know she had, but, stuffed in the back of a drawer with expired credit cards, her mom's Medicare and insurance cards, and less useful stuff, was a copy of "The Groucho Letters".

Carol wasn't a Marx Brother's fan, but I am.

Rather obviously, this was intended as a gift she'd give me on the next gift-giving occaision.

Our 33'd anniversary would have been May 1. I'm counting this as her last anniversary present to me.

Yeah, I got a little bleary-eyed. She keeps sneaking up on me.

A few weeks later, she got me again.

I needed a get-well card for a friend, and dug through the stacks of cards in Carol's office.

At the bottom of the stack of free cards we've gotten from Habitat for Humanity, Wilderness Society, and other charities, were two birthday cards and a happy anniversary card with postit notes reading "For Clif"

I can understand how people believe in ghosts. Our lost loved ones keep sneaking up behind us.