Surrounded by you.

You know how when you’re hurting, you want to retreat into your own domain and close out the world?

I’m feeling that way right now, but my domain is this house. And it’s filled with you.

Which makes things really difficult.

Everywhere I look, you are there.

The photo under the TV of all of us at the pyramid in Mexico sits next to the rocks you “stole” from the glacier in Alaska on the sofa table you made with Denny.

The canvas I had made of the photo I took when we were at Makers Mark in Louisville sits on the photo ledge on the landing of the stairs.

The deck you built, expanding it to what it should have been from the beginning, proving you were right once more, is surrounded by the fire pit, the rock wall, the concrete you poured, the peonies you planted for me, the bridal wreath my mom bought for you … it’s all you.

I can’t even look at the tray ceiling in the bedroom.

The half-round bar, your driving awards in the office, the red couch because you love red, the amazing birch tree decor. I gave the basement a good cleaning, windows and all, the second weekend after I found you and it was all I could do to not hyperventilate. Everything there is you. Everything. Every piece of drywall has your DNA on it and in it. You worked so very hard to make it so perfectly awesome. 

The photo of your mom sits on the black armoire in the back bedroom. She and I have had some interesting talks in the past few weeks. She’s a great listener. And I’m really going to miss her when you eventually take her from me.

There isn’t a square foot of this place that doesn’t have a story, a memory or a fingerprint of you on it.

And, I have to sit in it every day. Surrounded by all of it and surrounded by you. I have been sitting in it, all by myself, since March. All day. Every day. All by myself.

Your smiles are here. Your laugh is here. Your generosity is here. Your softness is here. Your bravery is here. Your kindness is here.

The way you love me is here. The way you care for Kati and the girls and your friends is here. The way you have built Jim Sympson into someone wonderful is here.

So sell it and move on, they say. The sooner the better.

But the only thing worse than being here with it is trying to imagine NOT being here … to try and picture someone else living in this place that was the very best combination of the two of us.

This is the place that made you proud. The is the place we were proud of each other.

I could have let it go if I knew we were letting it go together.

But this is the wrong way.