Without thinking, I opened the door in my memory tonight. Inside was a shelf and on it sat simple things that made you you; simple things that made me love you.
The shelf was painted a steel blue; the same color that you painted your shop floors. On it sat a variety of things.
There was a bottle of Vicks and I can smell it as I write. There sits a glass coffee pot over a lit candle. It's the one we had when we were first married and we would sit it on the coffee table and have our coffee with cherry pie. There sits a bottle of apricot jam. How you loved it with your toast.
There's a nickle laying there. It's the same nickle you pushed down behind Mama's headstone when we buried her. When I asked you why you put it there you said "When I'd ask Mother MaCree how she was doing, she would always say she wasn't worth a nickel. I want her to know she is."
There's a package of bologna, a ripe tomato, miracle whip and a salt shaker. Remember all the times I would fix us a bologna sandwich for a midnight snack and you would tell me no one made bologna sandwices like I did.
There's a cresent wrench and a screw driver and a roll of duct tape. You could fix just about anything with those.
There's your little black mustache kit that you had when you grew your mustache out about six inches on each side. You were so proud of it as you twirled the ends into a curl.
There's the cookie you would feed to Whoa Baby. She was such a cute "fat" horse. You would say "Do you want this?" and she would nod her head.
In the background I can smell diesel fuel, motor oil and gasoline. They were such a part of what made you you.
Sometimes, I find myself trying to put locks on the cabinets that house those shelves in my mind. It's something I do for self preservation, for to open them and review all the little things tears open the wounds you left in my heart. But there are other times I need to open the doors and gaze and smell and feel, for if I do, you are with me again.
I miss you honey. I love you.
Far Beyond the 12th of Never