We stayed connected after he moved to a yurt in the Catskills and later when he moved to Michigan.  Communication wasn’t forced, and it wasn’t frequent - just the occasional text, email, and phone call - just enough to last, so that years later and three weeks ago, he slept cramped in a ball on my couch.

He handed me a gift in a small drawstring pouch made of woven cloth.  I pulled out what was inside and placed it where it fit perfectly - in the palm of my hand.  I didn’t know what it was, but it was beautiful - metal, thin in the center, bulbous on the ends, and painted - gold, teal and orange.

It’s a dorje, he explained - a Buddhist symbol, a thunderbolt of enlightenment.  He found it in Tibet, dipped it in the highest lake in the world in Nepal, and brought it to New York to help me accomplish my goals.  As I held it in my hand, I knew I had everything I needed to do just that.