Memories


When memories are all you have...

Immediately after my husband died, I began to notice how many things reminded me of him. Apart from the physical reminders, many days, hours, minutes, places, songs, smells, all kinds of things, make me think of him. It wasn’t like that before he died, right? No, it wasn't’. Not even a little bit. That’s because I didn’t need anything to remind me in those days, the better, happier days. He was here with us. His very presence in the air made me content, even when we were arguing. Not anymore. Death does its best to ruin everything for the living. There were reminders I could do without, such as the hospital bed that he slept in, the lift that helped me get him into his wheelchair, not to mention the wheelchair itself. Those things practically went flying out of the house two days after he died, as my near hysterical voice screamed at someone to come get this crap out of my house. Yes, I was done with my memories of those things. But these memories and many others linger and sometimes, I honestly don’t know what to do with them. On the drive to work, my route takes me