The things that I carry

Grief is turning ordinary objects-a hairbrush, a note, a pin- into Sacred vestiges. - author unknown.

I carry his wallet in my purse.
His cell phone is in my purse.
I carry a note that he wrote me in my wallet. It says "don't forget the shirts at the cleaners - oh and i love you more all the time"


I sleep holding a sock hat that he wore all of the time because his hair never grew back quite right and he was always cold.

I also sleep in his t-shirts.

His laptop has become a sacred thing off limits to anyone but me. I do not use it, except to read things. That is where he left a letter he wrote me. It has a video of him playing the guitar. And conversations from when we first met as well as emails from the 'early days'. Those things could be imported to my computer and the computer put to good use by one of the children, but it won't be.

His toothbrush is still next to mine.

I wear his bathrobe (sometimes all day).