I still keep the flashlight by the back door, even though she's not here to use it.
Aunt Betty showed up unannounced this afternoon with a casserole I didn't need.
She saw the shoes on the shelf in the mudroom and asked when I was going to wear them.
I bought those brown oxfords for our 40th anniversary trip to the Oregon coast.
She got sick the Tuesday before we were supposed to leave. The trip never happened.
After she died, I couldn't throw them out. They cost a hundred and twenty dollars, which is a lot for shoes I wear to pump septic tanks.
Tonight after supper I took them down. Put them on. Walked from the kitchen to the living room and back.
They fit perfectly. I guess I'll wear them tomorrow. Not for any occasion. Just because.
The thing about holding onto something is sometimes you're just waiting for the right time to let it touch the ground.