Object Lessons
It has been one hundred days of “Good morning, Love,” without reply. One hundred nights, my hand on your pillow, remembering the feel of your hand enclosed over mine. How I cherish the things you left behind, your hat stained from the sweat of your brow, your toothbrush next to the sink, your wedding ring, now on my finger alongside my own. Rememer how, just weeks before your departure we helped move Dad’s old chair out of the living room where it sat for decades. Tipped on its side, a yellow golf tee and fistful of change fell to the floor. I stared at the tee and wondered how objects can outlive their owners. How can my life outlive yours? “Meet me at the river,” you said, more alive in my dream than in life. I startled awake. Putting all else aside, I went. The murmur of water slowed my walk. There I found you, in raindrops glistening from hemlock, shimmering like tiny lanterns. In the yellow-crowned sparrow, who blinked and tilted her head toward me. In the scent of rain and autumn, filling my lungs. I found you in the stubborn beat of my own aching heart. A giant maple leaf lay yellow on the dark, wet ground.


Beautiful
Oh my, Kaylene. That he spoke to you in a dream and you did as he requested - just grabbed my heart.