I still have your ashes.......

  I still have your ashes. It's been a year since your death and I still have your ashes! There was no memorial service. Your sister and I planned to give you a military funeral last spring, but so many things have delayed it. Now, I find it hard to even think of letting go of you. Something else for me to feel guilty about. So your ashes sit on the nightstand, onyour side of the bed. Yes, it's still your side of the bed. And when I've had enough for one day, grief climbs in bed with me, it's ice cold feet wearing YOUR socks.  It seems strange. The person I love has died and the world goes on. People shop. They go to work. They laugh. They sing. And I'm experiencing the winter of frozen dreams.  I'm so sorry, they say. How are you? I'm fine, I say. Just fine. When you're grieving, fine is a four letter word! They mean well, I know they do. It's hard for them, too. While I'm hurting on the inside, I feel forced to smile on the outside. I don't break down as often when I cry; it's more like a gentle melting.    There are times when I feel defeated, when I think not one more bad thing can happen to me. I'm not alone. My dear friends here at DS are hurting and feeling losses of their own. But, they are always there to pick me up and I try to be there for them as well. We have days when we must concentrate to make it through the next ten minutes, and days we feel pretty good. We're trying to adjust our lives and find the "new normal". We're trying to LIVE, to be here for the ones who love us. And no matter how hard MY days are, I will NEVER choose to put my loved ones in my position. I will never, by choice, be the cause of someone's pain. A pain that must be endured for the rest of their lives.   Today, I will go to the place where your spirit left the earthly world for the unseen world. A mountain road, at the end of the pavement on North Fork Drive, 8 miles NE of Sierra Drive. This is something I've wanted to do since your death. I will bury a letter I've written for you and pray. I have to begin "letting go". But, for now, I still have your ashes. I love you. I miss you. I always will.