When you lose someone so intertwined with your life, there are moments when you ‘feel’ normal, and you forget they are gone. It’s odd. After almost two years, I still think this is not happening, and I am waiting for it to end, but it does not.

So many mornings, I have turned to roll into you to spoon and take in the moment before the day starts.

But I forget…

I wake up in the middle of the night and tiptoe to the bathroom so I don’t wake you.

But I forget…

Leaving the gym in the morning, I think about getting you a coffee on the way home.

But I forget….

Talking together and plans to celebrate Jack’s graduation and the announcement that he got Fulbright!

But I forget….

Conversations with you about how excited I am to go wedding dress shopping with Amelia.

But I forget…

My body misses your body, and I swear I can smell you after a morning shower.

But I forget…

I found a recipe in The New York Times and reached for scissors to cut and save it for our Saturday night dinner.

But I forget….

I don’t think it is forgetfulness; it is hope. Hope that I find you there. Hope that this is just a really horrific dream. Hope that I can hear your voice without playing the voicemail on your phone. It is hope.

Do you know what I don’t forget?

Your voice on the phone when I called in the middle of your hectic day, and you always answered, “Hi honey.”

That you held my hand in the car almost every time we went somewhere.

How you endured the 70s on 7 and listened to me sing every song, and I cannot sing.

The feel of your scruffy chin on my neck when we cuddled into sleep.

Your face when I walked out of the oncologist’s office into the waiting room and how it changed from concern to relief.

My head was on your chest when they removed the tubes and vent, and I listened to that loving and strong heart beat for the last time.

These are only a few of the thoughts that swirl through my mind, all day, every day. I will never forget you, your look, your smell, your hand in mine—your strength, your love, and what you mean to me.

Never.