Some objects should not become relics.
They should become useful again.
The house eventually stopped belonging to one person’s memory.
Evelyn’s roses remained.
Thomas’s books filled the library.
Robert’s old chess set sat on a table.
Claire donated a piano.
Daniel built shelves.
I added yellow curtains upstairs.
Memory did not require eviction.
One life did not have to disappear so another could enter.
On the first anniversary of Thomas’s death, Claire asked me to visit the cemetery with her.
Daniel joined us.
Thomas and Evelyn were buried side by side.
Thomas and I had discussed that before marrying.
He once worried I would find it strange.
I had told him:
“You spent fifty years with her. If I get jealous of the cemetery, we have bigger problems.”
Now I knelt beside his grave.
“Hello, trouble.”
Claire laughed behind me.
“I read all your letters,” I told him.
