Not long ago I was invited to a memorial service for my friend Molly, who died this past December. The date was chosen because it would have been her sixty-ninth birthday. The place was chosen because it was a site that Molly had loved — she and her husband had gone there together many times over the years. He told us that they had often seen three deer walking through the area and the three would come quite close to them as Molly and her husband sat on the bench there, sharing a bottle of wine. It was a beautiful day for the memorial, sunshiny and just the right temperature. We trooped down a path through the woods to the secluded place that Molly had so loved and Molly’s husband read a beautiful composition he had written. Several people at the service spoke. People who weren’t comfortable with group speaking, wrote simple private letters to Molly and expressed their feelings in that way. After the ceremony, we stood and looked at the beautiful surroundings and right before we all left — just like magic — three deer strolled in along the edge of the river and stopped to join us for a while, before continuing on their way.