It isn’t the quiet of a lazy Sunday morning or the hush of a sleeping child. It is a loud silence. The absence of his keys on the counter. The missing second toothbrush. The side of the bed that still smells like him but no longer dips under his weight.
The Unspeakable Silence: A Letter to the Mourning Wife mourning wife
You might find yourself talking to him. Out loud. In the car. In the shower. This is not crazy. This is a love that didn’t die just because his body did. It isn’t the quiet of a lazy Sunday