I met Jens only once, a couple of weeks before he died. I was in the States, wading through the quagmire of divorce, and a mutual friend had called me on Skype to see how I was doing.
I wasn’t doing well. I had told my kids they were going to have two bedrooms, two homes, and the neverending love of one pair of parents. Meanwhile, word had spread among friends and colleagues, so on top of the pain flowing through my family, I was surrounded by a hurtful chatter of rumor and opinion.
This is the story of that experience, tango, and a crow funeral.
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