Ashes to ashes

Doug's daughter Missy was kind enough to pick up Doug's ashes after his cremation, because I just  couldn't. She's had them ever since, and brought them to me today.

It's nearly impossible to comprehend that all the remains of the man I love so much is contained in this box: his hands, which so often held my own, and stroked my hair, and caressed my sin; his lips, which kissed me and told me how much he loved me; his skin, which turned the most beautiful golden brown every time we took a beach vacation; his heart that loved me so much... all that's left of him is a pile of ashes.

How is this our reality? We weren't finished writing our love story; we'd just started. How can it be over? It's not supposed to be over. I'm not ready for it to be over, dammit, I NEED MY HUSBAND.

And if our love story has to be over, then I need to be over, too. Because I can't bear this much longer.