Hangout

Tiny piece by tiny piece. Every day I go home to a home I shared with Jamie, where he never will come home again. Every day I struggle with the balance between treasuring the good memories, the essence of him in our home, and the grief of knowing he's gone. I've been back to the restaurant now. The one I almost always had him with me when I went. The one where we went for his birthday. The one where the waitresses loved to swoon over him and flirt. The waitress with the red hair that he loved so much waited on me. I sat at a table where I know he sat. Just chairs, just a table. Just a menu. One little piece at a time.