they had little comments that Mark had inserted. His observations.
His notes on things he saw. And Brian and I treasured those.
I had started
to keep little things like that myself, thinking I would make one for each of
the kids. I just never realized I would be starting them at 38. I had hoped my
books would be like the ones Mark made for us—something I put together when I
was in my twilight years. I would have pictures of weddings and grandchildren
to include. I would have decades of memories to comment on. And though I had
close to twenty years with Brian, it wasn’t enough. I had wanted more. I still
wanted more. I wanted decades, centuries. I wanted a complete lifetime with
this man, who even in death had such a hold on my heart. And though I felt
robbed, I also realized that the time we did have was wonderful. I realized
that the years we had together were filled with more laughter than many people
get in a century. It was filled with tears and heartache, but also infinite
joy. Brian had given me memories that could sustain me for the rest of my life,
and if I couldn’t have him, at least I had those.
* *
*
I walked up the steep driveway to the
front door and stood on the stoop. Even after all these months, I was still
surprised at the memories that would surface. I was surprised at the little
things that would trigger my recollections. I had thought of those scrapbooks
on and off for the past few years, and maybe it was the idea of going through
Brian’s things that made me think of them on this day. I steadied myself,
getting ready to face the daunting task in front of me. I fished my keys out of
my pocket and went into the house.
It was a bit
warm. I guess I forgot to turn the AC on the previous day. I walked over to the
thermostat and set it for a comfortable 75. Brian used to fuss that I kept it
too warm in the summer and too cold in the winter. I let out a sad laugh. His
fussing was one of the things I would miss the most. It’s true what they
say—you miss the strangest things.
I walked into
the kitchen, ready to tackle the dishes, and looked at the back door. I miss
not having to yell at him to shut the back door. He always left it open, and
the screen door just let out all the cool air.
And then with a
glance of the microwave, I missed that sudden slam of its door whenever Brian
used it to heat up something.
The little
things! I thought to
myself. Well, today is going to be a busy day, so I better get to it.
It was only
9:30, so I had plenty of time before animal control showed up. I hummed as I
finished washing the dishes, and when I was done, I turned on the dishwasher to
tend to the rest.
I was ready to
do this.
* *
*
I went downstairs into the basement and
grabbed some boxes. Then I went into Brian’s workshop. I looked around at the
machines and all the tools meticulously placed on the walls. I needed to talk
to the boys to see if there was anything they wanted. I walked over to the desk
to look for some packing tape, and then I saw it.
Brian had
always loved to do little woodworking projects. We had stools he made in the
kitchen, and I had a beautiful chest in our bedroom for our linens that he
crafted for me one cold winter. But I had never seen something like this.
I had a lot of
jewelry—nothing too fancy—though I had my wedding rings and some beautiful
diamond earrings Brian had bought me for our tenth anniversary. I had
complained one day that it was just all over my dresser. I had little cardboard
boxes or tiny silk bags, but I needed a jewelry box. I guess Brian remembered.
I hadn’t been
down there since he died as I wasn’t one to do much around the house in regards
to repairs. Sam occasionally did quick fixes here and there, but there was
never a reason for me to come down. I guess I never thought to see what Brian
had been working on when he died. In the corner, on the old desk on which he
used to come up with designs was a beautiful maple box. The swirls and
His notes on things he saw. And Brian and I treasured those.
I had started
to keep little things like that myself, thinking I would make one for each of
the kids. I just never realized I would be starting them at 38. I had hoped my
books would be like the ones Mark made for us—something I put together when I
was in my twilight years. I would have pictures of weddings and grandchildren
to include. I would have decades of memories to comment on. And though I had
close to twenty years with Brian, it wasn’t enough. I had wanted more. I still
wanted more. I wanted decades, centuries. I wanted a complete lifetime with
this man, who even in death had such a hold on my heart. And though I felt
robbed, I also realized that the time we did have was wonderful. I realized
that the years we had together were filled with more laughter than many people
get in a century. It was filled with tears and heartache, but also infinite
joy. Brian had given me memories that could sustain me for the rest of my life,
and if I couldn’t have him, at least I had those.
* *
*
I walked up the steep driveway to the
front door and stood on the stoop. Even after all these months, I was still
surprised at the memories that would surface. I was surprised at the little
things that would trigger my recollections. I had thought of those scrapbooks
on and off for the past few years, and maybe it was the idea of going through
Brian’s things that made me think of them on this day. I steadied myself,
getting ready to face the daunting task in front of me. I fished my keys out of
my pocket and went into the house.
It was a bit
warm. I guess I forgot to turn the AC on the previous day. I walked over to the
thermostat and set it for a comfortable 75. Brian used to fuss that I kept it
too warm in the summer and too cold in the winter. I let out a sad laugh. His
fussing was one of the things I would miss the most. It’s true what they
say—you miss the strangest things.
I walked into
the kitchen, ready to tackle the dishes, and looked at the back door. I miss
not having to yell at him to shut the back door. He always left it open, and
the screen door just let out all the cool air.
And then with a
glance of the microwave, I missed that sudden slam of its door whenever Brian
used it to heat up something.
The little
things! I thought to
myself. Well, today is going to be a busy day, so I better get to it.
It was only
9:30, so I had plenty of time before animal control showed up. I hummed as I
finished washing the dishes, and when I was done, I turned on the dishwasher to
tend to the rest.
I was ready to
do this.
* *
*
I went downstairs into the basement and
grabbed some boxes. Then I went into Brian’s workshop. I looked around at the
machines and all the tools meticulously placed on the walls. I needed to talk
to the boys to see if there was anything they wanted. I walked over to the desk
to look for some packing tape, and then I saw it.
Brian had
always loved to do little woodworking projects. We had stools he made in the
kitchen, and I had a beautiful chest in our bedroom for our linens that he
crafted for me one cold winter. But I had never seen something like this.
I had a lot of
jewelry—nothing too fancy—though I had my wedding rings and some beautiful
diamond earrings Brian had bought me for our tenth anniversary. I had
complained one day that it was just all over my dresser. I had little cardboard
boxes or tiny silk bags, but I needed a jewelry box. I guess Brian remembered.
I hadn’t been
down there since he died as I wasn’t one to do much around the house in regards
to repairs. Sam occasionally did quick fixes here and there, but there was
never a reason for me to come down. I guess I never thought to see what Brian
had been working on when he died. In the corner, on the old desk on which he
used to come up with designs was a beautiful maple box. The swirls and
Similar Books
