Thursday, August 11, 2011
There are still some things in the closet that I haven't worn since Will died;I brought one out yesterday. This keeping track, I guess, is one of my ways of remembering. The day (finally) I changed the sheets on Will's bed. The day I (finally) washed the last tee-shirt that smelled exactly like he used to smell. The last time we cooked outside, ate ravioli, picked blueberries, ran through the sprinkler, drove this way in the car, I'll think, Will was alive.
The driving ambushes me the worst; there have been times, usually on longer drives when I'm by myself, that I'll just stop the car and pull to the side of the road and tear and stare and concentrate on breathing and wonder: how did I do all that; how can we go on. Watch the sky.
It is his birthday this weekend. He would have been 43. Same as me in December.