REMEMBERING BARBARA TODAY on what would have been her 71st birthday.

My dear wife was 66 when breast cancer took her life five years ago this spring, right here on Center Island. This was where she wished to be, not in a hospital or hospice. It was difficult, but daughter Lillian and I made it work for her, along with help from a handful of extraordinarily kind island neighbors and a final visit by three loving sisters.

Five years seems a tough milestone for me. My friend seemingly forever, my wife of 41 years, Barbara was the love of my life. But I still feel her presence every day: her lovely smile, her quick wit, her boundless love. She taps my shoulder as I’m fixing dinner and cautions me not to burn my chop. I light a candle for her every night and bid her good night as I blow it out and head for bed. My greatest blessing: I have the joy of seeing her in Lillian, who is one of the kindest and cleverest humans I know, and the best gift Barbara gave the world.

Lillian, her partner Lux, and I got together in Olympia over the weekend with our friends Daniel and Jean Farber to plan for our upcoming canal-boat voyage on France’s Lot River, a celebration of my 70th birthday. We took the opportunity on Saturday to share a birthday cake with candles and sing an early “Happy Birthday” to Barbara. It was sweet.

I started this day by writing a birthday email to Barbara’s seven siblings, all of whom are still around, spread between Puget Sound and Australia. I took a long walk around my island in the February sunshine. I took Galley Cat for a stroll to the end of our road and fed her more cat treats than was probably healthy. I ate lunch in my writing hut, and I wrote this post. A quiet and contemplative day on my rock.

Happy birthday, dear heart. Miss you.