There are reminders everywhere.

Every time I open the fridge.

Every time I pull up the “list” on our DVR.

Every time I walk into my bedroom.  It’s now my bedroom. For almost 20 years it was our bedroom.  Now it’s just mine.

The mail that arrives with his name on it.  Evidence that he was here and lived.  A reminder that he is no longer here.

The random piece of his laundry that makes it into the load.

His shampoo, that will now forever be my shampoo.

Every time I open a cupboard and see “his” food. Food we’ll never eat, but that I probably won’t throw away.

Every time I take out the trash and walk past his garden–how am I going to eat all of this lettuce alone?

The reminders are everywhere.

I feel the weight of his absence every day in the load that now rests solely on my shoulders.

The reminders help lighten that weight in many ways.

The reminders wrap me in his love for us.