The Last Love Note

by Emma Grey

That’s the problem with grief. It’s not packed tidily in a box that you can bring out in appropriate, private moments and sort through. It’s threaded inconveniently through everything.

Others look for feathers or rainbows or coins. I look for unexpected magic. Small miracles sparking out of

black holes. Perfect parking spots. Chance meetings. Stars aligning for subtropical mini breaks and festivals …

“Take it from a very old woman. No amount of sadness is going to bring your husband back. Did he want you to be happy when he was alive?” “Blissfully.” She smiles. “Don’t take that away from him, then, in death.”

I’ve seen more sunrises since Cam died than I’d seen in my life up until then. They’re a promise; no matter how bad everything is, the world keeps turning.

I’ve learned that love outlives death. It holds steady through despair. It won’t fade, even as time elapses and distance increases and your world shifts.