Jack and I had always had a psychic connection. We could read each other’s thoughts, and sometimes we even shared dreams. But after hurting each other for years, we stopped talking for a decade. Then, at the start of 2020, when Covid became rampant in Boston, I knew I needed to get in touch with him. I had the strong feeling that I was going to die, and I wanted to say goodbye before I left. As it turned out, my instinct was right—I did need to say goodbye—but it wasn’t me who left. Little did I know that Jack’s passing was just the beginning of a new phase of our relationship. And life as I knew it.