Your bottles of Tabasco are in the cupboard. I don’t know where to put most of the kitchen stuff; that was always your domain. I’m going to finish unpacking it today; we need utensils for eating and cooking.
Unpacking a box from our room in Austin I find the plastic container holding your incense and hug it and cry. I really didn’t like when you lit it; the air always felt so heavy. Now the smell and memory makes me sob. Magnus came into the bedroom and asked what it was and smelled it and agreed that it made him think of you too. I put it in the closet shelf so I can smell it and remember.
Most of the things that made up our house, now my house, are in the garage. It’s less overwhelming with them tucked away.
Remember how I asked you once if you would consider me to be clumsy and you said yes? I fell hard on move-in day; watching Matt back up the Uhaul truck instead of where I was walking. I have a huge bruise on one shin and a bruised and scraped knee on the other.
I still can’t believe you are gone. I can’t believe in less than a year you were diagnosed and dead.
I try to think of things in terms of today or the next few hours. Sometimes writing a list of what I want to do in one day can be too overwhelming. It’s so hot and gross outside.
ad astra per aspera 