I wear your baseball hats and walk your dog.I drive a car that you picked out for me, that you thought would be good for our kids, safe for me and our family. We didn’t have kids, but you were sure we would. I work on this computer that you got for me, saying if I was going to use a laptop it should be able to do everything I needed so I didn’t have to use two computers. I wear your wedding band, even though you never got to.You never got to wear it, having died before our wedding day. It is beautiful and as it is getting worn and scratched from day-to-day on my hand I find myself wondering what shape it would be in if it were on your ring finger. I don’t wear mine, they are in a safe back home.

I wish so badly I had them with me right now. I took them off and left them behind thinking  that was right, I’m not married so wearing my engagement ring and wedding band might get in the way of me 'moving on'. It could be confusing… But fuck, this is confusing. Your death the most confusing thing. Rings, no rings, like  symbols to the world of where I am at. But where am I at? I wonder if for the rest of my life my heart will be bound to yours in a way that keeps it locked for anyone else.

I have a few of your sweaters but haven't worn them much since I’ve moved here. They are on a top shelf and sometimes catch my eye when I am getting dressed. Rarely do I take them down, and almost never do I put them on anymore. In the early days after your accident you sweaters were all I wore, but now I avoid them.

Your cologne is in my medicine cabinet and whenever I open that little cupboard I see it. Once I spot it I have to take it out to smell it, and for a moment my face is back buried in your chest. Taking in that smell, your smell. A smell that I have smelt countless times, as your arms would wrap around me and pull me into your beating heart. I loved that moment, I still love that smell. I can close my eyes and for a second feel you. Feel me leaning into you. But it never last more than a breath, than the brutal slap of reality.   

I sleep with your ashes by my bed along with my set of keys you thought you lost years ago but found months later in your gym bag.  After of course I had already replaced all of them. I kept that set not because I would ever use them again but because seeing them made me laugh. Our first house key was on there, you had gotten me a special one with hearts on it.  

After your death I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. Like they told the stories of all the locks we shared keys too. Just you and me, both welcome to open the same doors that were restricted to everyone else. Full access to all the parts of each other's lives no one else was privy to. They told the story of our life:

The key to our home. The place we shared, not mine, not yours, but equally ours. The framework of our family. The key for my car and your truck. The key for your office, and Mom's house The key to our mailbox, safe, and bike lock. Together representing a shared life, a special kind of trust. You had misplaced them as we rushed off on our flight to N.Y.. The last big trip we took together, where you asked me to marry you. To spend the rest of our lives together; sharing keys. So I have kept them, most of the locks that those keys belonged to have since been changed. They have no real use; only representing a life that was. Still, I can’t let them go. Fuck, the list of what I have had to let go of is plentiful, what I have gotten rid of endless, only these few things I have kept. Serving no purpose, yet invaluable to me.

Now I’m alone. I can’t imagine a day that I will share keys again. Kisses yes, my time yes, even my body and mind, but my whole life, full access to it all… I’m can’t be so sure. I live here in a new life, new keys. Ones that we’ve never shared, and yet you are still all around.

My love, I am missing you. I have sort of crafted a different life, I have fought like hell to 'move on', and despite it all, here I am. Crying for you. Screaming in my car. Begging for you. Wondering what it would be like to throw in the towel. How long would it take for my body to give out if I gave up, how bad would it really get before the higher power took mercy on me and brought me to you?  Just how long would I have to go? How bad would it have to get? I can see why older people die of broken hearts, but I have a feeling I am too young and healthy for that.

Of course I know that is too selfish, it would only be passing this cruelty along and that just won't do. So I hold it. I surrender to being submerged in it until it passes. It always passes and I come alive again, maybe more alive than most will ever be. Finding beauty in the mundane, I soak up the good while I have it.

I don't know how to go on without you Rene. I miss you so much my love. With all of my heart, I am loving you.