Empty

For almost 20 years, I would go over to Michelle's house.  I would climb the steps to the porch, greet Sammie and Pankie in one cage, William in the other, and open the door to the middle room to say hello to Mazie.  If it was the morning, I'd hook up Agatha, say hello to Tinker and Colette (if she was around) and go upstairs.  I'd say hello to Miss Emily and Lucy and if it was before Michelle was sick, I would wake her up and take Sailor out for a walk.  After Michelle was sick, I'd let her sleep while I walked Sailor and did the morning stuff.  I'd look around, in each room, at all of the familiar furniture and things.

Now, her house is empty.  The executors and their crews have cleaned out all of the rooms.  I don't know what they did with the books and other things that can be salvaged. It wasn't something I could handle, so I let them dispose of it as they wished. Most of the stuff was thrown away, I think.  I kept many things that were sentimental.  Candles, some clothing, some dishes, photographs, the vase and flowers of the last dozen roses I brought her, maybe some other things. Everything else is gone.  It looks like they are replacing the electrical outlets, and the workers went into the attic.  I haven't any idea what was up there, and I don't think Michelle knew, either.  They probably won't tell me and I won't ask.  

As I walked through the empty rooms in her empty house, I realized that the sadness probably won't ever go away.  It might shrink until it occupies some tiny lobe in the memory cortex of my brain, but I'll see something or hear something and then the memories will come back.  What will happen to her house?  Again, I probably won't ask and they probably won't tell me.  It was best, to let them handle it.  Just to have those memories, those times we spent together, is a nice thing.