One night, Marty didn’t want to have to climb the stairs at all. So much so that he proposed to sleep alone downstairs. I persuaded him to do one more night upstairs in the room we’d shared for sixteen years, one more night to bring closure. To ponder what it is to walk down a hallway, and climb down stairs one last time under one’s own roof. What is it to know that an entire part of your home will no longer be part of your life? Not sure why I needed that night, and he appeared not to. But he did humour me with one more trip up the stairs.
