On April 8, 1988, it all went wrong. I would later call that day the “beginning of woes.” I walked into our home shortly past 5 o’clock, and after a full day at work, and noticed the missing piano in our living room. I immediately knew what Had happened. My wife of nine years decided she had enough: it was time to leave. A simple note was left on the kitchen table. It read, “You’re right; we can’t go on like this. I’ll call you later.” I had shared those sentiments about a marriage impasse a few weeks earlier, not knowing how it would haunt me for years to come.

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