Yesterday was the three month anniversary of my father’s death and when I met my sister at Connecticut Muffin she was listening to Schubert’s last string quintet on her iPhone.

My sister has enjoyed listening to that beautiful piece of music ever since she found the CD at my dad’s upstate house in October; the case was on the table in the living room near his CD player.

She decided that my father must have been listening to it the last time he was in the house in June.

It was the last piece of music Schubert wrote before he died. We think this ravishingly sad and lyrical piece, with its sweeping harmonies and disparate moods, was one of my dad’s favorites.

Maybe he was listening to it last June precisely because it was the last piece of music Schubert wrote before he died. Or maybe that’s just a coincidence.

My sister gets teary listening to it. She put the ear plug in my ear yesterday at the cafe and I also got teary.

"You know it’s the three month anniversary," she said. "December 7th."

Listening to the music, I had that soaring sense of connection with my dad I have when I listen to music. It’s like the CDs and records he left behind are imbued with his life. He lives on through the music that he was so passionate about.

"Can you hand me a napkin," I asked feeling self conscious about crying in the cafe.

After a while I took the ear plugs out. It was time to sit and drink coffee and get on with our day.