They came. My friends and family came. They took my furniture a piece at a time. Soon, there was nothing in the prayer room. Almost nothing in the living room.
Sadness. Unending pain. Didn't know it would come. It walked through the door with friends and family. Every item touched...moved...removed. Every item filled with Tom and I.
Sorrow, grief, pain. Don't touch the chair. Don't move the box. Take the pain instead. Leave the lamp. Leave the table. Leave my heart to remember joy. Every item - a sharp, stabbing, sorrowful pain. Every move - a piece of us gone.