It took two full years before I was able to truly grieve my brother. During a shopping trip to Macy's, the song he always played on my piano—“As Time Goes By”—began piping through the store's speakers. It was a poignant, bitter reminder that a man who was never in a rush had been taken away far too quickly.

I make no bold claims about having a genius for a grandson, but the boy absorbs language like a sponge. He listens, repeats words instantly, and—best of all—retains them in his mental vault, ready to retrieve whenever the right context arises.

Our dog and cats make us feel like we lucked out in the most profound way. We've had a handful of grown-ass adult meltdowns between the two of us this year, and each time our animals made everything better.

Who could have guessed that she would transform into a long-distance runner and fitness entrepreneur, using her sharp instincts and striking looks to forge a path to success? And succeed she did—living in an elegant home in a gated community and quietly hobnobbing with Nevada’s conservative elite.

Riza is fiercely loyal to both her personal and professional relationships; her friendships last a lifetime. (Gosh, she won't even give up smoking long after smokers have become a vanishing tribe!) That unwavering constancy and fealty are precisely what made her one of the most accomplished and admired friends I know.

Roli and I have been married for 45 years. Before that, we courted for nine. Simple arithmetic tells you that we’ve been together for 54 years—which, in this day and age, feels like a lifetime and a half. Is it even possible to stay together that long? Apparently so, as our own story proves.