I miss you more every day, my darling Teresa. Every day I have things I want to tell *you*, not just your photos, not just your urn – yes, I’m still going to get you a really nice one; the funeral home ones were gaudy and expensive, and you’d have hated them as much as I did. I know you want/need a better one than what your ashes were sent home in. Every time I look for one, your urn moves. And then it opened. I get the hint. But, don’t stop, either. (And, yes, for anyone wondering, it’s on a totally flat shelf, and is *super* heavy.)
Every day I want to hug you and kiss you, and be hugged and kissed by you.
I am so lonely.
Need you now….