Why don’t you grab her hand?” Once we were all in the bedroom, I grabbed my camera and told John to stand behind my wife and put his hands on top...of her shoulders. I started shooting away. I then told him to move her hair aside, and start kissing her along the upper part of her neck. I then instructed him to reach around and undo the belt on her robe and open it to expose her skin. Honestly, I really didn’t know what to expect. Even though I had offered my suggestions as to what she should. (For those unfamiliar with the term, I refer to the obituary column.) One Sunday, one of them caught my eye. It read, “Antoinette Dellasandro, 85, widow of the late Mario Dellasandro, survived by a daughter, Dierdre.” It brought me back to when I was a teenager. It was the spring of ’66 and I was halfway through my senior year of high school when it finally happened. I was neither a great student nor a great athlete. No one applying to Harvard had to worry about me taking their place in the. More

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