We came home to a chilled house. Spiritual presence of my love hovered near. Acute awareness of his would-be activities so tangible I stepped back and watched him move through the rooms.

His touch – only an inch beyond my reach. Never attainable. Clear sight of him – just outside my periphery. I turned to look – and lost it. The sound of his movements lingered as silent echos in our kitchen. Audible to me alone. Such are my sounds from the quiet which often invade. Interrupting any random moment now.

When you miss someone, there’s much more than simply the absence of his physical self. An entirely ethereal set of shadowy vacancies request experience each day.

If you’ve ever loved and lost (and who among us hasn’t?) I describe a thing you already know. Loss equals pain. And the pain is simply the bloody, gaping hole left in a heart by former tenants – now evicted (through death, divorce, or decisions).

Pain. The price of love.

Your love occupied rooms of being together-ness in your life. In spaces like: time spent together, routine communications, unimportant shared topics (meaningless to any outsider), household habits, bundled memories, and many, many more.

It is to these empty rooms I look on this blusteringly dreary cold wet afternoon.

Grief. Love with no place to go. Empty rooms filled with memory. A forever home of “us” – beautiful in its inability to ever be changed. But that elusive and concealed unoccupied space will always ache for completion with him (or her) and what “could have”, “might have”, or “should have” been.

And so I chose to carry out his duties in his absence. Today: fire.

Cleaned the fireplace. Gathered and stacked a night’s worth for the wood burning stove. Kindling, small limbs, medium limbs, split logs, and a large half trunk to bank the fire overnight.

Dig out a handful of dryer lint (saved all year for exactly this season) and set it up. Lint, kindling… ok, small limbs enter the game… wait, time for bigger limbs, good… Ah, blazing flames.

The chill exits. Dan – in me – is content. Of course, his spirit was such before the fire. He’s got it way better than we do at this point. But I feel him here with us. Again. For a moment.

Tomorrow? Maybe bread from scratch. Just like Dan would make.

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Sometimes I just have thoughts that require writing. I hope you enjoy. Cass and I are well. Sophomore year suits her as she flourishes. I am finding rhythm and happiness most days. God Bless. 😘