Today marks twenty months since I last kissed my angel. I sound like a broken record when I say I can’t believe how difficult this still is. Nearly two years have gone by and yet I feel like I’ve made only a few insignificant steps forward. But I keep on.
Two days ago I cleaned out Maggie’s cool car. It was full of memories: her lip gloss, her driving gloves (for back when she was so sensitive to the cold), her sunglasses, a myriad of receipts, even a couple of notes from law school – all gone now. I even found a doctor’s receipt for one of the first visits she made to the doctor before she was diagnosed back in December, 2006. I saved that one.
Today I went to the DMV and transferred the title of the car to my name. I had given her that car as a graduation gift, as her first really sporty car and her last before becoming a mother, and as a thank you for being my wife. She loved that car. Now it’s back to me. I didn’t say a word to the lady at the DMV about what happened but when I left she had big tears in her eyes.
Every couple of days or so I open up various drawers of hers and move stuff around. Then I close them up and walk away. It’s still so bizarre digging through her things. But I keep pushing.
The pushing I’m doing causes emotional reverberations, echoes that affect me for days. For example, the How I Met Your Mother episode last night threw me into tears. Two steps forward, then sometimes two steps back. Then rest and regroup. But I must, must keep pushing.