Cam’s notes, fixed all around my own house and in my wallet and car and everywhere else, have kept him visible in my life. They’ve scaffolded my grief. Provided hard evidence that he lived, and thought, and wrote. I wasn’t prepared for the unexpected lightness of being here without them. Tangible relief from the daily onslaught of memories that have been suffocating the fire of my grief, holding me at a place in time when he was still here, instead of letting it rip.
