Letter fifty-nine - Day seventy of your vacation

Dearest J,

I packed quite a few of your Haines teeshirts to give to a single-mom charity outfit.  While packing a sadness got better of me.  You used to stress over running out of these comfortable teeshirts, they are so precious to you.  These white tees have been your signature look for decades.  Mama used to have to repair all the holes on your old ones, before you found more of them during your trips to India, and then Bangkok.  Now all these shirts aren't put to use anymore, even though I know they are going to people who will find them useful...I can't help imagining you standing in the room while I pack them, thinking...oh, there goes all my precious Haines tees.  Sorry they have to go, I wish I keep them...but we both know there isn't any use in keeping them.  Like what Gopi said, we have to make a good use of all your things.

I kept a set of two of your favourite teeshirts, for my fantasy, that one day...somehow you'd come back and will need some familar clothing to get comfy in.  This absurd thought must stem from all those hours I spent not missing you, not thinking of you, and now these little explosions of emotions manifest themselves into...how I react to situations.

70 days already, closing in to 100, then it will be 200, 300...  Part of me want to celebrate how all of us have survived without you since Oct 3, how we have managed to brush aside our misery and walk on, even laugh and make toasts to many things; part of me want to put a stop to the clock ticking away, because counting the days seems to lengthen the distance between you and I, that day when you put on your biking suit to go out and this day, I sit here without a home for my heart.

But life goes on.

Ya.

Went to visit Mama.  Had lunch with your dad, Mama and your aunt.  Saw Hilary sleeping under the car as I left after lunch, fatter than ever.

Going to make something useful now, maybe do my laundry and look at my music before I sleep.

Miss you,

B