A little over a year after my husband passed away, I finally felt ready to go through the drawers of his nightstand.
The top drawer was filled with little things—pens, business cards, ticket stubs from concerts we went to. It seemed like whatever he had in his pockets at the end of the day ended up there.
In the bottom drawer, I found a couple of his sketchbooks, a folder of poems he had written long ago, and more folders filled with D&D characters and maps. And under all of that, I found something unexpected—a folder with my name on it.
Inside, carefully unfolded and neatly kept, were the love letters I had written to him during my senior year of high school. I had no idea he had kept them all this time. Seeing them brought back a flood of memories, and for the first time since he passed, I could smile at those moments without breaking down in tears.
Back then, I was 18, and he was 20. And, just like he did for the next 30 years, he made me laugh by reminding me of all the things he’d rather do with me than just sit there.