Truly, how does one capture the life of your love, the love of your life, a trailblazer, a devout friend, a rescuer, an advocate, an activist, an artist, in mere words? When my partner, Diana Hemingway, first died by suicide on December 20th, 2016, I wrote fervently about her in the days that followed. The words flowed easily, as it felt like she was still here. I could still see her sitting across the couch from me. I could still see her eyes, as I stared into them from where my head had time and again rested in her lap. Most of all, I could still hear Diana's voice in my head, her words so often filled with frustration and angst over some form of oppression or act of injustice.