Tears have been close to the surface all day long. So many memories to sort through, pack, and give away. I found the binder they gave me when Will went into hospice. It has been moved from place to place, lost, forgotten and resurfacing with regularity ever since. It was time to take it back. I have been meaning to do so since the first of the year, but now it really was time. I could have thrown it away, I suppose. It’s just a binder with information on the process of dying. What is normal. What to expect. I am sure they didn’t need it back. But it felt wrong to throw it away, so I took it back.

When I walked in there was no one at the front desk. There hardly ever was though because they depend on volunteers to do many things, and this was one of them. I had hoped that one day I would be able to volunteer at the hospice. Give back a bit. But I haven’t been strong enough. My compromise has been trying to be supportive of people on the board. I succeed about half the time, I think.

I checked the staff rooms, but they were empty. I went into the chapel and looked at the book with the names of the deceased, but the book was for this year only and Will’s name wasn’t there. Finally, I ventured back towards the rooms. Will was in room 5. I could see that the room was occupied so I didn’t head towards it, but a part of me wanted to look in. Not because I thought he would be there, but because it is the last place I ever saw him. And I don’t miss seeing him the way he was,especially that last year, but as I prepare to move away and truly start a new life with Rob, I have this homesick feeling for Will.

A nurse appeared from the kitchen then and asked if she could help me, and I handed her the binder, explaining that I was moving and wanted to return it. She looked a bit confused. I guess most people just throw the binder away. I couldn’t really explain that I had given enough away for the day.

As I headed out the front door to my car, I could almost hear him tell me that I shouldn’t have gone there, That he wasn’t there anymore. Indeed he is rarely around at all. I don’t feel him in the house or at the cemetery or even hear him much in my mind. It’s like he is telling me with his absence that it is time we both got on with the present we are living and head towards the futures we are meant to have. And he is right. I have been absent myself. Living and planning and being happy. It’s time.