Thursday, October 11, 2007


I packed the mate's clothes in boxes today. It seemed like the right time to do it, but it kind of hurt too. Like closing a door on your thumb, or your heart.

I'd already given away a bunch of the clothes she didn't wear often and threw away the really ratty stuff. (She liked comfortable; just a few dresses in suit bags for classy restaurants and special occasions.) I kept the things she wore all the time, things that I see her wearing when I think about her. They smell like her, too.

Six months seems short given the depth of my love for her. But we had no secrets from each other. We both knew we weren't going to get old together even with the transplant (survival rate after ten years is pretty low) and she was very explicit about wanting me to find someone.

She occupies a large place in my heart and no one can take her place. The heart simply expands to fit. At least that's the theory.

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