On another plane. Leaving Erika, on my way to Mark, Nancy, Jennifer. Crying again. Thinking of you. AGAIN.
Thinking of your last minutes. Minute maybe, or even less. How long? From when he hit you to when you died. Not long, I know, but exactly how long I’ll never know.
What did you think? Lots of things, really fast, or nothing at all? Did you only feel? Were you scared? Or sad? Or pissed? Or maybe you were just reacting – trying to swerve, to survive, to avoid the impact.
If you could think, who did you think of? All of us? Your friends, your Mom, your Dad, Codie, Matt and Erika, me? Did you have time for us all? If it’s true that your life flashes before you, then it was all of us. If not, who did you choose? Was it me? You have picked me so many times. In the basement of Howard Johnson’s, on the edge of Niagara Falls, in the Gates Town Hall, in the early years when it was so hard to learn to live together and survive, all the times we argued or I hurt you. Every time you had a choice – should I pick her? Every time, you did. Was it me this time? If so, what did you think? I love her so much? She loves me so much? Is there a difference, or are they both really the same thought?
Did you see “the light?” Did it call you? If so, why did you go? Why did you go why did you go why did you go? I’m not mad at you (yet – all the books say I will be someday) I just want to know why you went. Did you want to? I mean if you saw the light. I know you didn’t want to if there was nothing compelling you, but people say that when you see it you want to go. I want you to have seen it, because it might mean there is something or someplace good waiting for you, somewhere that is happy to be. But if there was, why did you choose it over us all? Over me? When you have always picked me before? Or did you fight, and you lost? I only wanted you to fight if you won. Otherwise it means your last moments were not peaceful and easy.
I still choose you. To remember, to wish for, to miss, to love, to be grateful for, to laugh about. Someday when I die, if I get to choose, I will pick you to think about. And hopefully to go to. I hope there’s a kiss chair there.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
My New Travel Reality
Today I go see Erika – I am writing this on the plane. I will stay with her for a few days, then go to a lake in the Adirondacks in NY to visit Mark and Nancy and my sister Jennifer and her family. Turns out they both vacation at the same lake the same week every year and we never knew it before.
I have been looking forward to this trip, which will let me spend time with people who are some of the most comforting people for me to be around. Yet I cried most of the way to the airport and I am struggling not to right now. This is the second time I have traveled since the accident, not counting the travel to and from NY for the funeral. I have traveled quite a bit in my career, and never used to mind traveling alone. It’s all different now. I never realized before how important it was to have someone at home. It made the aloneness only temporary, whereas now it is an in-my-face reminder that this is my new life.
Now when I leave for the airport, no one notices (no PERSON anyway). No one looks forward to my return. He doesn’t call me when I’m in the airport; I don’t text him just before I shut down my phone on the plane. I won’t be calling home to tell him I got there safely, and he won’t be saying he misses me already. Traveling alone has become traveling ALONE.
On top of that, it is tough to leave Codie and Charley. Their lives are so different now. Because he worked from home, neither of them has ever had a time in their lives when they were alone all day. It’s hard enough seeing how forlorn they look when I leave for work each day – it’s worse when I leave for a trip. Today Codie tried to follow me to the car – I had to make her go back inside and close the door while she stood there. It makes me feel so sad and guilty. I have a great dog sitter who stays at the house with them, and they love her, but it’s not the same.
On my last trip, I learned that coming home is even worse. I will not call him when I land. All around me, I will hear people on the phone – “I’m here – meet me at…” or “We’re on the ground – I’ll be home soon.” No one will care that I am on the ground, or driving home, and just plain home. The kiss chair will be empty, and no one will have made one of my favorite foods to say “I’m glad you’re back.”
This trip to see Erika is especially hard because we were supposed to go together. Kirk and I had never been to Vegas together at all, much less to visit her. She has lived there for almost four years, and we had still not gotten out there. The timing was always wrong, for us or for her. We had agreed this was the year we would go – no specific date, but likely in June. The week of the accident, we had started looking at dates. He wanted me to play the slots, and kept telling me that if I won a little, I needed to make a big fuss, screaming and jumping up and down (definitely NOT my style). He was convinced that casinos loved people who made a big scene when they won, and that if you did it they would make sure your machine cooperated and you won even more (you will notice it wasn’t HIM who was supposed to act like an idiot in order to test this theory). I am so looking forward to seeing her but can’t help thinking that I should have been doing it with him.
But I will remind myself that the good things in life are still good even though they are not the same, and even though I wish they were. I will still be glad to see Erika, and will still enjoy meeting her friends. I will have a good time at the lake, and I may even let Mark teach me to fish. I will for sure let Sean make me a drink just the way I like it. I know there will be tears over the next few days. Even still, I am hoping that somewhere on this trip I will have the first little moment when my inside happiness comes back.
I have been looking forward to this trip, which will let me spend time with people who are some of the most comforting people for me to be around. Yet I cried most of the way to the airport and I am struggling not to right now. This is the second time I have traveled since the accident, not counting the travel to and from NY for the funeral. I have traveled quite a bit in my career, and never used to mind traveling alone. It’s all different now. I never realized before how important it was to have someone at home. It made the aloneness only temporary, whereas now it is an in-my-face reminder that this is my new life.
Now when I leave for the airport, no one notices (no PERSON anyway). No one looks forward to my return. He doesn’t call me when I’m in the airport; I don’t text him just before I shut down my phone on the plane. I won’t be calling home to tell him I got there safely, and he won’t be saying he misses me already. Traveling alone has become traveling ALONE.
On top of that, it is tough to leave Codie and Charley. Their lives are so different now. Because he worked from home, neither of them has ever had a time in their lives when they were alone all day. It’s hard enough seeing how forlorn they look when I leave for work each day – it’s worse when I leave for a trip. Today Codie tried to follow me to the car – I had to make her go back inside and close the door while she stood there. It makes me feel so sad and guilty. I have a great dog sitter who stays at the house with them, and they love her, but it’s not the same.
On my last trip, I learned that coming home is even worse. I will not call him when I land. All around me, I will hear people on the phone – “I’m here – meet me at…” or “We’re on the ground – I’ll be home soon.” No one will care that I am on the ground, or driving home, and just plain home. The kiss chair will be empty, and no one will have made one of my favorite foods to say “I’m glad you’re back.”
This trip to see Erika is especially hard because we were supposed to go together. Kirk and I had never been to Vegas together at all, much less to visit her. She has lived there for almost four years, and we had still not gotten out there. The timing was always wrong, for us or for her. We had agreed this was the year we would go – no specific date, but likely in June. The week of the accident, we had started looking at dates. He wanted me to play the slots, and kept telling me that if I won a little, I needed to make a big fuss, screaming and jumping up and down (definitely NOT my style). He was convinced that casinos loved people who made a big scene when they won, and that if you did it they would make sure your machine cooperated and you won even more (you will notice it wasn’t HIM who was supposed to act like an idiot in order to test this theory). I am so looking forward to seeing her but can’t help thinking that I should have been doing it with him.
But I will remind myself that the good things in life are still good even though they are not the same, and even though I wish they were. I will still be glad to see Erika, and will still enjoy meeting her friends. I will have a good time at the lake, and I may even let Mark teach me to fish. I will for sure let Sean make me a drink just the way I like it. I know there will be tears over the next few days. Even still, I am hoping that somewhere on this trip I will have the first little moment when my inside happiness comes back.
Friday, July 31, 2009
In the Beginning...
I have been thinking a lot about how we began. It’s not an exciting or overly romantic story, but it’s our story, so it makes me happy to think about it.
It was just after Fourth of July weekend, 1979. I was 17, and had just graduated from high school, and would be going off to University of Vermont in the fall. I had a boyfriend that I really liked. He was a swimmer, and over the holiday weekend, he had competed in a state meet that took place at the Air Force base in Rome, NY. I had driven down with him to watch, and had spent the whole weekend in the sun.
It was hot the day I got back, and I had to go to work for a 6p to 4a shift. I was working as a waitress (now called “servers”…so PC!) at Howard Johnson’s. I didn’t have a license yet, so I usually rode my bike to work – about a four mile ride. As I think back now, I don’t know why I wore a bathing suit for the ride, but I did – nothing revealing – just a navy blue Speedo. I pulled jeans on too so I wouldn’t get grease on my shin if bumped the bike chain (strange outfit I know – go figure…).
I rode to work and went inside and down the basement stairs to change into my uniform in the locker room. As I came down the stairs and turned the corner, I was looking straight ahead at some shelves that stuck out into the center of the room. I heard someone on the other side of the shelves, and then he stood up – and there he was. Looking at me from the other side of the shelves – bright blue eyes that stood out even in the dim basement, and shaggy blonde hair (it was after all, still the 70s). We had never met, but he looked awfully happy to see me (now that I think about it, that’s how he would look for a long time to come – awfully happy to see me). I’m pretty sure it was the bathing suit. In fact, I know it was – he remembers looking for something on the bottom shelf, then standing up and seeing the bathing suit and the tan. That was enough for him.
I thought he looked pretty darn interesting myself. I knew everyone that worked there – who was this? I remembered that all the women that worked there were talking about the cute new manager. For a second I thought this must be him. Then he came out from behind the shelves, and I saw he was holding the letters for the sign out front. Damn – that was a dishwasher’s job, and there was no way I was hooking up with a dishwasher. He introduced himself – Kirk somebody with a funny last name. I said hello and went to change. Too bad he’s a dishwasher, I thought – he’s cute. What a little snot I was.
I went upstairs, and sure enough, he washed dishes all night. He was friendly, I was cool. He offered me a ride home, but I said no thanks – my boyfriend was coming to pick me up.
The next day, I rode in again, and there he was – in a tie. Well now – this was a different story. Turns out he was washing dishes because all managers had to do all the jobs at some point. Throughout the night, we laughed and flirted. He asked about my boyfriend, and said he had seen him the night before – why was I going out with someone so unattractive? I laughed – my boyfriend was anything but unattractive. All night, Kirk told me how ugly the guy was. Probably stupid too, he said.
Over the next two weeks, we worked together a lot. When I finally accepted that ride home, there were golf clubs in the front seat. He opened the door and instructed me to climb in back – he informed me that the clubs took priority over any girl (typical Kirk humor). Once we debated that, and the golf clubs were settled in back where they belonged, I got in the front and realized there was a rubber glow-in-the-dark brain on the dash. No fuzzy dice for this guy – heaven forbid he be predictable.
At one point, I remember we were laughing, and he told me I was amazing. I’ll never forget that. “Amazing” is a common slang term now, but it was a word no one used back then. I couldn’t figure out what he meant. I worried – “is he mocking me out?” I kept asking him what he meant. He just told me it meant what it meant – he thought I was amazing. I really liked him.
It was getting to be decision time. I had a boyfriend, but he and I had never discussed the rules – were we exclusive? I had wanted to be, but hadn’t had the courage to bring it up. He didn’t see anyone else that I knew of, but didn’t bring it up either. We were both going to college that fall in the same area – me at UVM, him at SUNY Plattsburgh. It was all planned – we would see each other on weekends. Should I stay committed to someone even thought he hadn’t made a commitment to me (seems silly now – how much commitment should a 17 year old want!)? Or should I assume I was free to date Kirk also, which I really wanted to do?
The next night at work, Kirk told me straight out he wanted to go on a real date. Not to the movies, or to eat, or anything ordinary – not for him. No, he wanted me to go Niagara Falls with him. I don’t know why - I think he was just trying to be different. He wanted to go the next day, and he pestered me about it all night. I was supposed to go see George Carlin that night with the boyfriend. I ditched him and went to the Falls instead. Best decision of my life.
We drove up and did all the dumb touristy stuff – the wax museums, Ripley’s Believe It or Not. We held hands. We went over to the Falls and walked all around. It was late by then and the lights were on in the water. A few times, we stopped to look at the Falls and just stood quietly – he had his arm around me, and at one point he kissed the top of my head. Months later, he told me that when he did that, it was because he knew at that very moment that he loved me. He always remembered that exact spot, and throughout our whole marriage, any visit to Niagara Falls included him taking me to stand in that spot – the spot where he fell in love with me. He kissed my head every time.
On the way home, we were quiet – relaxed and easy with each other. He walked me to the door and kissed me again – not on the head. Let’s just say it was a long time before I went in the house. Boyfriend – what boyfriend?
I ditched the boyfriend the next day. Kirk and I spent every waking moment together – we worked the same schedule (the perks of dating your boss!) and were together before and after work. I met his parents and they were nice to me (thank you Mom and Dad W.!)
After about a month, I told him I really liked him, but I had no idea what his last name was – I’d been mumbling it every time I had to say it. We had a pronunciation lesson. I believe that was the same night I told him I was only 17. I had lied about my age to get my job, because you had to be 18 to serve liquor. Back then you didn't have to show proof of age when you were hired - they just believed you. He had of course assumed I was 18, and the news that I was underage was a bit of a shock. That was my first lesson in the ethics of Kirk. His motto was “do the right thing” – how many of you have heard him say it? He told me that we had to tell the General Manager. The next day, we did. I got chewed out – he was pretty horrified at the fact that he could have lost the liquor license – but I didn’t get fired. I stuck to serving ice cream after that.
Soon it was time for me to leave for college. Needless to say, we decided we wanted to stay together. But that’s Chapter 2, and I’ll leave it for another day.
He was the best boyfriend I ever had.
It was just after Fourth of July weekend, 1979. I was 17, and had just graduated from high school, and would be going off to University of Vermont in the fall. I had a boyfriend that I really liked. He was a swimmer, and over the holiday weekend, he had competed in a state meet that took place at the Air Force base in Rome, NY. I had driven down with him to watch, and had spent the whole weekend in the sun.
It was hot the day I got back, and I had to go to work for a 6p to 4a shift. I was working as a waitress (now called “servers”…so PC!) at Howard Johnson’s. I didn’t have a license yet, so I usually rode my bike to work – about a four mile ride. As I think back now, I don’t know why I wore a bathing suit for the ride, but I did – nothing revealing – just a navy blue Speedo. I pulled jeans on too so I wouldn’t get grease on my shin if bumped the bike chain (strange outfit I know – go figure…).
I rode to work and went inside and down the basement stairs to change into my uniform in the locker room. As I came down the stairs and turned the corner, I was looking straight ahead at some shelves that stuck out into the center of the room. I heard someone on the other side of the shelves, and then he stood up – and there he was. Looking at me from the other side of the shelves – bright blue eyes that stood out even in the dim basement, and shaggy blonde hair (it was after all, still the 70s). We had never met, but he looked awfully happy to see me (now that I think about it, that’s how he would look for a long time to come – awfully happy to see me). I’m pretty sure it was the bathing suit. In fact, I know it was – he remembers looking for something on the bottom shelf, then standing up and seeing the bathing suit and the tan. That was enough for him.
I thought he looked pretty darn interesting myself. I knew everyone that worked there – who was this? I remembered that all the women that worked there were talking about the cute new manager. For a second I thought this must be him. Then he came out from behind the shelves, and I saw he was holding the letters for the sign out front. Damn – that was a dishwasher’s job, and there was no way I was hooking up with a dishwasher. He introduced himself – Kirk somebody with a funny last name. I said hello and went to change. Too bad he’s a dishwasher, I thought – he’s cute. What a little snot I was.
I went upstairs, and sure enough, he washed dishes all night. He was friendly, I was cool. He offered me a ride home, but I said no thanks – my boyfriend was coming to pick me up.
The next day, I rode in again, and there he was – in a tie. Well now – this was a different story. Turns out he was washing dishes because all managers had to do all the jobs at some point. Throughout the night, we laughed and flirted. He asked about my boyfriend, and said he had seen him the night before – why was I going out with someone so unattractive? I laughed – my boyfriend was anything but unattractive. All night, Kirk told me how ugly the guy was. Probably stupid too, he said.
Over the next two weeks, we worked together a lot. When I finally accepted that ride home, there were golf clubs in the front seat. He opened the door and instructed me to climb in back – he informed me that the clubs took priority over any girl (typical Kirk humor). Once we debated that, and the golf clubs were settled in back where they belonged, I got in the front and realized there was a rubber glow-in-the-dark brain on the dash. No fuzzy dice for this guy – heaven forbid he be predictable.
At one point, I remember we were laughing, and he told me I was amazing. I’ll never forget that. “Amazing” is a common slang term now, but it was a word no one used back then. I couldn’t figure out what he meant. I worried – “is he mocking me out?” I kept asking him what he meant. He just told me it meant what it meant – he thought I was amazing. I really liked him.
It was getting to be decision time. I had a boyfriend, but he and I had never discussed the rules – were we exclusive? I had wanted to be, but hadn’t had the courage to bring it up. He didn’t see anyone else that I knew of, but didn’t bring it up either. We were both going to college that fall in the same area – me at UVM, him at SUNY Plattsburgh. It was all planned – we would see each other on weekends. Should I stay committed to someone even thought he hadn’t made a commitment to me (seems silly now – how much commitment should a 17 year old want!)? Or should I assume I was free to date Kirk also, which I really wanted to do?
The next night at work, Kirk told me straight out he wanted to go on a real date. Not to the movies, or to eat, or anything ordinary – not for him. No, he wanted me to go Niagara Falls with him. I don’t know why - I think he was just trying to be different. He wanted to go the next day, and he pestered me about it all night. I was supposed to go see George Carlin that night with the boyfriend. I ditched him and went to the Falls instead. Best decision of my life.
We drove up and did all the dumb touristy stuff – the wax museums, Ripley’s Believe It or Not. We held hands. We went over to the Falls and walked all around. It was late by then and the lights were on in the water. A few times, we stopped to look at the Falls and just stood quietly – he had his arm around me, and at one point he kissed the top of my head. Months later, he told me that when he did that, it was because he knew at that very moment that he loved me. He always remembered that exact spot, and throughout our whole marriage, any visit to Niagara Falls included him taking me to stand in that spot – the spot where he fell in love with me. He kissed my head every time.
On the way home, we were quiet – relaxed and easy with each other. He walked me to the door and kissed me again – not on the head. Let’s just say it was a long time before I went in the house. Boyfriend – what boyfriend?
I ditched the boyfriend the next day. Kirk and I spent every waking moment together – we worked the same schedule (the perks of dating your boss!) and were together before and after work. I met his parents and they were nice to me (thank you Mom and Dad W.!)
After about a month, I told him I really liked him, but I had no idea what his last name was – I’d been mumbling it every time I had to say it. We had a pronunciation lesson. I believe that was the same night I told him I was only 17. I had lied about my age to get my job, because you had to be 18 to serve liquor. Back then you didn't have to show proof of age when you were hired - they just believed you. He had of course assumed I was 18, and the news that I was underage was a bit of a shock. That was my first lesson in the ethics of Kirk. His motto was “do the right thing” – how many of you have heard him say it? He told me that we had to tell the General Manager. The next day, we did. I got chewed out – he was pretty horrified at the fact that he could have lost the liquor license – but I didn’t get fired. I stuck to serving ice cream after that.
Soon it was time for me to leave for college. Needless to say, we decided we wanted to stay together. But that’s Chapter 2, and I’ll leave it for another day.
He was the best boyfriend I ever had.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Toothpaste Spatters and Unwashed Sheets
Today one of the neighbors told me she's having a garage sale - did I need to get rid of anything? I know she didn't mean Kirk's things - she was just being helpful. But just the question made me freeze. NO - I do not want to get rid of anything. I want it all just like it was when he was here.
His laundry is still in the hamper.
His toothpaste and shaving cream spatters are still on his mirror (he was messy - there's LOTS).
His soap is still in the shower (How long does it take an untouched bar of soap to disappear? Answer - just over 3 months; it was new and now it's a small sliver).
His shampoo bottle is in the shower too.
His sneakers are under the desk right where he left them.
His magazines are waiting for him in the bathroom.
His clothes are still in the closet and the drawers.
I had his ring resized and now I wear it - I traded with him so he has mine with him. We never exchanged rings when we got married - it seemed like the right time now.
I store every card, note, piece of jewelry he gave me, and photo with him in it in the bathroom that is the tornado shelter, so there is minimal risk of losing them.
All the food he had in the freezer that I don't like and will never ever eat (venison, scallops, etc.) is still there.
The wine and beer I will not drink is untouched.
Every piece of paper I find with his handwriting gets saved - phone numbers on the backs of envelopes, grocery lists on paper scraps - all of it.
His voice is on the voice mail so I can hear him when I need to.
I'm even saving odds and ends that I always threw away before - lighters, pennies, old pens. They have no connection to him - they are just things that I find in my car, or an old purse, or the junk drawer. The only connection is that he would have kept them. So I do too.
Weirdest of all, I have still not changed the sheets. Why? I keep thinking I will smell him. I want so much to lie in our bed and be surrounded by him. I sleep on his side now, and have since the very first night. The mattress pillowtop is more worn down on his side, and I get a backache from sleeping there, but I don't care. I even took his favorite (clean) fishing shirt and put it on my pillow as a pillow case. I bury my face in the pillows, the covers, and breathe deep - hoping for just a little of him. It isn't there - it wasn't even there the first night. Still, I don't give up hope. I inhale every time I turn over or adjust the covers - maybe this is the time I will smell him. It doesn't happen, but I keep hoping. The sheets are feeling pretty yucky, but they are the ones he last slept on. Embarassing as it is, I'm just not ready to wash him away.
Next to his ring and pictures of him, my favorite thing of all is the shirt he wore the night before the accident - a white golf shirt. He made spaghetti that night, as evidenced by the sauce drips on the front of the shirt. The night of the accident, one of my neighbors went into our closet and found it for me - probably in the top of his hamper. She knew I needed something to hold on to, and brought it to me without my asking. It was the best thing anyone could have done. It DOES smell like him, and also, it has tiny hair clippings inside the neck - he got a haircut that day. I slept in it for the first several nights, but then I got worried it would lose his smell and take on mine instead, and that the hair clippings would get brushed off. Now I keep it in a drawer all by itself, and take it out and put my face in it when I need a fix.
I know this all sounds sad and depressing, but for me it's not. The sad and depressing is that he's gone - keeping all his things the same gives me comfort. I like the toothpaste, the scribbled notes, the kitchen just the way he left it.
So I dragged out a bunch of my stuff I don't need and sent it over for the garage sale. Nothing of his. I go on vacation next week - I'll think about the sheets when I get back...
His laundry is still in the hamper.
His toothpaste and shaving cream spatters are still on his mirror (he was messy - there's LOTS).
His soap is still in the shower (How long does it take an untouched bar of soap to disappear? Answer - just over 3 months; it was new and now it's a small sliver).
His shampoo bottle is in the shower too.
His sneakers are under the desk right where he left them.
His magazines are waiting for him in the bathroom.
His clothes are still in the closet and the drawers.
I had his ring resized and now I wear it - I traded with him so he has mine with him. We never exchanged rings when we got married - it seemed like the right time now.
I store every card, note, piece of jewelry he gave me, and photo with him in it in the bathroom that is the tornado shelter, so there is minimal risk of losing them.
All the food he had in the freezer that I don't like and will never ever eat (venison, scallops, etc.) is still there.
The wine and beer I will not drink is untouched.
Every piece of paper I find with his handwriting gets saved - phone numbers on the backs of envelopes, grocery lists on paper scraps - all of it.
His voice is on the voice mail so I can hear him when I need to.
I'm even saving odds and ends that I always threw away before - lighters, pennies, old pens. They have no connection to him - they are just things that I find in my car, or an old purse, or the junk drawer. The only connection is that he would have kept them. So I do too.
Weirdest of all, I have still not changed the sheets. Why? I keep thinking I will smell him. I want so much to lie in our bed and be surrounded by him. I sleep on his side now, and have since the very first night. The mattress pillowtop is more worn down on his side, and I get a backache from sleeping there, but I don't care. I even took his favorite (clean) fishing shirt and put it on my pillow as a pillow case. I bury my face in the pillows, the covers, and breathe deep - hoping for just a little of him. It isn't there - it wasn't even there the first night. Still, I don't give up hope. I inhale every time I turn over or adjust the covers - maybe this is the time I will smell him. It doesn't happen, but I keep hoping. The sheets are feeling pretty yucky, but they are the ones he last slept on. Embarassing as it is, I'm just not ready to wash him away.
Next to his ring and pictures of him, my favorite thing of all is the shirt he wore the night before the accident - a white golf shirt. He made spaghetti that night, as evidenced by the sauce drips on the front of the shirt. The night of the accident, one of my neighbors went into our closet and found it for me - probably in the top of his hamper. She knew I needed something to hold on to, and brought it to me without my asking. It was the best thing anyone could have done. It DOES smell like him, and also, it has tiny hair clippings inside the neck - he got a haircut that day. I slept in it for the first several nights, but then I got worried it would lose his smell and take on mine instead, and that the hair clippings would get brushed off. Now I keep it in a drawer all by itself, and take it out and put my face in it when I need a fix.
I know this all sounds sad and depressing, but for me it's not. The sad and depressing is that he's gone - keeping all his things the same gives me comfort. I like the toothpaste, the scribbled notes, the kitchen just the way he left it.
So I dragged out a bunch of my stuff I don't need and sent it over for the garage sale. Nothing of his. I go on vacation next week - I'll think about the sheets when I get back...
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