Slicing beef for fajitas in our kitchen, I lean against the counter and cry. His face framed in my memory. His laugh forever frozen in time.
Later, we go to his grave. The dirt is still wet and uneven. Too new for a stone. Tim and I stand there, in sunglasses, with questions shaking our hearts.
We see a kid in Army fatigues outside of Ace Hardware. Blonde hair. Young. I stare, then turn to peer out the glass – remembering that same exact uniform.
On most nights, we stay awake too late – whispering, remembering, holding the sheets to our faces.
It happened on Groundhog Day 2012. The groundhog saw his shadow. An extended winter. That’s what it felt like for us too.
In loving memory of Stephen Sheaffer