I still sleep on my side of the bed. Her pillow still has a dent from two years ago.
The thermostat has a note taped to it in her handwriting: 'Set to 68 at night, you forget.' I've never taken it off.
This weekend is graduation. The town is full of caps and gowns. I taught most of those kids.
Last night, a young man knocked on my door. I hadn't seen him in ten years. He was the quiet one, always struggling.
He said, 'I almost dropped out. You told me I could write. I'm graduating with honors tomorrow because of you.'
I didn't know what to say. I just stood in the doorway.
After he left, I sat on the edge of the bed. For the first time, I didn't automatically look at her side.
This morning, I took down the note from the thermostat. Then I taped it back up. Some doors I'm not ready to close.