I promised myself I would not 'set myself up'. I know what it means to pine away over such contrived memory land-marks as the first date, the first kiss, etc. I did enough if it when I was younger with teenager love-lost situations. I decided this kind of memory thing struck me as a form of self-persecution.
I also promised myself I would get busy, not so much that I'd get run down or sick, but enough to increase my activity and begin preparing the house, garden, etc. for winter. Having projects diverts my from focusing on what I no longer have to what I can create. They help me through the day.
What doesn't help are the moments when I expect something to be done by my absent partner and realize I'll have to do it myself. Having to take his fanny pouch off the chair and go through the contents of his wallet for the first time in our married lives threw me for a loop. The first smell of fall which always thrilled me because it meant football and popcorn and slower days made my eyes water until the sun went down.
So, I wondered why I kept his denim shirt out of the wash, separating it from the last batch of clothes he'd worn. His smell lingered on the collar. It held the last essence of his physical body. I tucked it away for at time and brought it out today. Pulling it on gave me a strange comfort, like reaffirming his life had been wrapped around mine as much as his shirt covered my arms and breasts and buttocks. It helped me know how much I was loved and probably still am from across this great divide separating us. I've hung it away again in a corner of his closet for some day in the future when I might need to be reminded of that love, or when I might need a good cry.
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