The first experience was in our home in Arlington, Virginia, in the living room where Curt and I always sat near the fireplace. It was late in the evening of the day funeral services were held and my sister and I were sitting quietly reflecting on Curt's life. Because Curt's death was the result of a suicide, the shock and grief we felt was extreme. It seemed all we could do was talk to each and share our sadness.  

  As my sister and I shared favorite memories of Curt, the snow began to fall hard against the window panes, its icy crystals tinkling against the glass in the wind. An enveloping silence blanketed the room and the wind died down. My sister glanced out the window at the bottom of the stares and became very still.

"Did Curt ever wear a green shirt?, she asked as she described his favorite hunter green pullover. "Yep, in fact, it's upstairs, I said. "Why?" Because he's in the window wearing it, she said softly looking steadily at the panes of glass.