And then I woke up to her climbing onto the couch with me and then I realized it wasn't just me, I couldn't let myself go. I still had her. I curled up around her tiny body and she fell asleep, her head on my arm, my arm falling asleep, so little and fragile and her heart beat so strongly in her chest and she saved me.

At night, though, was when the pain came back the worst. At night, falling asleep on the right side in a cold bed, missing her talking and laughing, missing her moving around our bedroom looking for her keys or a plug or whatever she had lost. Missing her reading next to me. That was the worst.

But the days moved on. The days moved on and the pain, the big sharp empty aching pain, I grew accustomed to it. But then, out of the blew, these little things, little stupid reminders, would come flying at me and surprise me and rip right through me.

I would be washing my hands and all of a sudden, for whatever reason, notice my ring. I would notice it and this memory of sitting on the balcony of our apartment, before the house, before the wedding, looking out over this parking lot that butted up to some trees. Looking out at these trees, trying so hard to come up with the right vows.