I had been all prepared to mourn. After all, the photo on my driver’s license was pretty darned special. It had been taken in June of 2008, less than a week after my return from our honeymoon in Virgin Gorda. I was tanned, in crazy-good shape, stupidly in love, and gainfully employed with families I adored. We lived in an apartment that couldn’t have been any cuter if it tried, we saw our friends with alarming regularity, and P.J. and I {Read More}