A couple of weeks ago, Tim threw a load of towels into the washer, as he often does. Along with them, he put in my bathrobe and Cory's two fluffy bathrobes that hang ceremoniously outside the linen closet, unmoved since her death. I noticed them gone when I climbed in the shower one day, but didn't ask him about them or say anything, a little curious to see what he would do with Cory's bathrobes. The next morning while Jake was getting ready for school, I walked through the living room and noticed Tim patiently unwinding the pom pom ties of her robes that had tangled in the wash. When I got home from work that night, and walked into the bathroom, all three robes were hanging back in their proper places.
This is what I love about this man. He can talk "coping" and "getting through it" all he wants, but in the end, he's no more ready to say good-bye to her than I am.
I asked him some time later if he hung her robes back up to make me happy or because he wasn't ready to take them down, and he answered simply, "I did it because I love her, and I want memories around to make us smile."
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