There was little we could do for Uncle Delmar. When Aunt Eleanor passed, part of him passed with her. During the day, he refused to speak. During the night, he spoke to his bed lamp, claiming it was she. He flicked her on and off long into the night and kept June and I awake. One morning we brewed a strong pot of Costa Rican, hoping its high notes would keep us on the move. Uncle Delmar had some too. Out of the blue, he began to tell us how he and Aunt Eleanor had met, how she had waited for him during the War. He told us every darkness has its star, there's always goodness to come home to.
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