Michael,
Today I picked up my favorite pen and tried to write with it. It is drying up. Normally, this wouldn't bother me, except it suddenly occurred to me that I received this pen several days before you departed this world. It is just another detail that I remember about that week last year. Although I try not to dwell on it too much, I find myself thinking things like "I remember doing x on x day, because Michael passed away that week." I find myself associating so many things with that event--sheets newly placed on the bed, what music I was listening to, errands I was running, what thoughts were running through my head. I think to myself, "I don't want to change the sheets yet, they remind me of last June," "I don't want to throw out this pen, because when I got it, Michael was still here."
There comes a time when a person finally moves on. Although I don't feel that I am at the point where I am able to watch and listen to you like before, I am able to let go of the small things in life. Bedsheets and pens are material possessions, but the soul lives on forever. So, I am going to throw out this pen.
Goodnight.