There were many more emails from Peter, but I was not careful enough to keep them. At some point I lost a hard drive and there were simply no more to share with you. I have one photo of him that I printed out and one day I will get it scanned. He was devilishly handsome.
In the beginning, and in that photo, his beard was as dark as his hair, but he wrote towards the end that his beard was quite white.
He would not mind me telling you that he called doctors fools. He hated the times he had to go into the hospital for tests. He said they would poke and prod him, causing endless pain. And in the end they always said the same thing—that he couldn’t be helped! He saw the irony in that, alright.
Their funds were dwindling and at one point they moved to a smaller place. His wife worked and during the day he found companionship with the cats and robins.
As my husband grew weaker, I tried to grow stronger, but that just didn’t happen. I was tapped out emotionally and physically. Peter was just tapped out physically. Inwardly he remained the Self.
As potent a sage as his beloved Robert Adams ever was, Peter’s destiny was to remain unknown except in the hearts of those who loved him. And of course there’s my book of our conversations….
He said he had become bigger than the sky and so all I have to do is look up and find him there.