My husband was one of five journalists murdered by a stalker who didn’t like the news stories the paper ran about his court appearances. Despite his legal history, this man was able to get a gun. I wear my husband’s press pass proudly wherever I go. Sometimes I tuck it under my shirt and just keep it close to my heart, but other times I wear it out. It’s my talisman, to imagine that he’s with me, and to remind people that he existed. I’m finishing his fourth book. Although the manuscript was just a few days away from being finished, there are issues with the photographs and the publisher and permissions and distribution, and I am determined to publish this book on time. I toil every day on his book. It’s really good. I can’t imagine that he won’t be here to see it published, and every day that fact haunts me. But I’m going to make damn sure it gets published.