Charlie

Dear Emma, I want to start where I always waited: by the front door, in the soft afternoon light, with my blue tennis ball ready. It was the most important thing I owned, and I wanted it in my mouth the moment I heard your footsteps. You came home, and the whole day made sense. I slept by the shoes near the back door because everyone passed through there. I liked knowing who was home and who was still out. When the last person walked in, I could finally settle. The house felt right. Thank you for those ordinary days—the slow walks through fall leaves, the lake dock when the light turned gold, the worn ball, the shoes by the door, and the sound of you coming home. I never needed anything grand. My whole life was made beautiful by those regular afternoons with you. I know there is a sorry sitting in your chest, a wish that I could have stayed longer. Please set it down. You did not fail me. You kept the house soft around me when I grew slow and old, and you made the end gentle. That was a gift. So stay close to one another, the way I always wanted everyone gathered in one warm house. When you pass the front door and feel the small absence there, let it be tender instead of sharp. You will find me in the blue of a tennis ball, in the crunch of leaves, in the shoes by the door, and in the gold light resting on the water. The rooms may be quieter now, but quiet is not empty. It is where love used to make noise—and love is still there, only softer. I loved my life with you. I would not trade a single ordinary day. I was yours, and I was so glad you were mine. Love stays. It always did. Yours by the door, always, Charlie